Ct>PYFfQNT  *994    BY  T.Y.  CRCWEL  L  &  C& 


FROM    THE   LIBRARY   OF 

REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D 

BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Calvin  College 


http://www.archive.org/details/poems1800ship 


POEMS 


BY 

ANNA    SHIPTON 


NEW  YORK : 
THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO. 

No.  13  Astoe  Place. 


PREFACE. 


"  He  is  faithful  that  promised." 

The  desire  of  my  heart  for  nearly  twenty  years  has  been 
to  see  my  poems  in  large  type,  that  I  may  administer  to 
the  old,  and  sick,  and  feeble.  Through  a  friend  and 
brother  in  Christ  whom  I  have  never  seen,  but  whom  my 
heart  takes  worship  of,  that  desire  through  the  faithfulness 
of  the  Lord  is  now  granted.  Written,  as  they  have  been, 
to  cheer  and  soothe  my  own  heart,  out  of  the  fulness  of  the 
consolation  granted  me  they  have  reached  others,  and  will 
be  sung  by  others  in  distant  lands.  This  edition,  prepared 
for  America,  and  chartered  with  many  a  prayer,  I  commit 
to  Him  who  gave  me  songs  in  the  night,  and  taught  me 
to  sing  them.  To  how  many  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic  would  I  ask  to  remember  me,  and  in  prayer  for  a 
blessing  on  these  pages,  testify  of  the  goodness  offered  to 
the  now  silent  singer !  A.  S. 


CONTENTS. 


The  Offering 1 

Praise  for  All 3 

Conflict 4 

The  Fourth  Watch 12 

The  Sinner  Saved 15 

He  Loveth  Me 19 

My  Garden-Ground 21 

The  Finger  of  God 28 

The  Morning  Cloud 31 

The  Broken  Slumber 34 

The  Prayer  Vessel .  38 

Have  Faith  in  God 41 

The  Living  Saviour 42 

Accepted  in  the  Beloved 47 

Without  Money  and  Without  Price 50 

Wayside  Watcher 52 

Isaac 59 

God's  Messenger 62 

The  Door  of  the  Sepulchre 67 

The  Exceeding  Good  Land 69 

The  Heavenly  Friend 75 

The  Pearl  Diver 78 

The  Place  for  Gold  where  They  Fine  It 81 

The  Dying  Thief 84 


vi  CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Prisoner  of  the  Lord 87 

The  Rest  Bell 91 

Marah 94 

The  Golden  Vial 97 

The  Day  Laborer 98 

The  Prisoner 101 

The  Crown  of  Thorns 102 

The  Weary  Watcher 107 

The  Recognition 107 

The  Dream  of  Heaven 109 

The  Last  Night  with  the  Dead 110 

Midnight Ill 

Weep  Not 112 

The  Treasure  House 113 

Prayer 115 

Sitting  at  the  Feet  of  Jesus 11G 

Bread  Upon  the  Water 117 

The  Flight  of  the  Dove 119 

The  Soul  Committing  Itself  to  God 121 

The  Angel  Messenger 123 

The  Still  Small  Voice 124 

The  Wreck 124 

Words 127 

Shrouded  Blessings 130 

Let  Us  Go  Forth .  131 

Returning 132 

The  Golden  Sceptre 133 

Silence 135 

The  Look 136 

Meliora 138 

The  Wounded  Soldier 141 

Whispers  'Neath  the  Palms 145 

The  City  of  our  God 149 

My  Infirmity 150 

Crown  Jewels 153 


CONTENTS.  vii 


PAGE 

The  Two  Shadows 157 

The  Little  Sanctuary 160 

The  Exceeding  Riches  of  His  Grace 101 

The  Watch-Tower 164 

Light  Sown  for  the  Righteous 1GG 

The  Lost  Cherith 167 

The  Living  God 169 

The  Last  Journey 171 

The  Swelling  of  Jordan 172 

Aaron's  Breastplate   .         . 176 

The  Shining  Footprint 178 

Retrospection 180 

Alpha  and  Omega 182 

Fellowship 183 

A  Benediction 186 


THE   OFFERING. 

Ye  are  not  your  own  ;  for  ye  are  bought  with  a  price. 
1  Cor.  vi.  19,  20. 


No  more  my  own,  Lord  Jesus ! 

Bought  with  Thy  precious  Blood, 
I  give  Thee  but  Thine  own,  Lord, 

That  long  Thy  love  withstood. 

I  give  the  life  Thou  gavest, 
My  present,  future,  past ; 

My  joys,  my  fears,  my  sorrows, 
My  first  hope  and  my  last. 

I  give  Thee  up  my  weakness 
Which  oft  distrust  hath  bred, 

That  Thy  indwelling  power 
May  thus  be  perfected. 

I  give  the  love  the  sweetest 
Thy  goodness  grants  to  me ; 

Take  it,  and  make  it  meet,  Lord, 
For  offering  to  Thee. 


THE  OFFERING. 


Smile  !  and  the  very  shadows 
In  Thy  blest  light  shall  shine ; 

Take  Thou  my  heart,  Lord  Jesus, 
For  thou  hast  made  it  Thine. 

Thou  know'st  my  soul's  ambition, 
For  Thou  hast  changed  its  aim 

(The  world's  reproach  I  fear  not), 
To  share  a  Saviour's  shame. 

Outside  the  Camp  to  suffer, 
Within  the  Vail  to  meet, 

And  hear  Thy  softest  whisper 
From  out  the  Mercy-seat. 

Thou  bear'st  me  on  Thy  bosom, 
Amidst  Thy  jewels  worn, 

Upon  Thy  hands  deep  graven, 
By  arms  of  love  upborne. 

Rescued  from  sin's  destruction, 
Ransomed  from  death  and  hell, 

Complete  in  Thee,  Lord  Jesus  : 
Thou  hast  done  all  things  well ! 

0  deathless  Love  that  bought  me ! 

0  price  beyond  my  ken  ! 
0  Life,  that  hides  my  own  life 

E'en  from  my  fellow-men ! 


PRAISE  FOR  ALL. 


Now  fashion,  form,  and  fill  me 
With  light  and  love  Divine : 

So,  one  with  Thee,  Lord  Jesus, 
I'm  Thine  —  for  ever  Thine ! 


PRAISE   FOR  ALL! 

"All  things  are  yours."  —  1  Cor.  iii.  21. 

Praise,  my  soul,  the  love  that  sought  thee ! 
Praise  the  Lord,  whose  blood  hath  bought  thee ! 
Praise  for  all ! 

"  Ye  are  Christ's."     Can  any  sever 
Christ  and  thee  ?     Nay  !     Then  for  ever 
Praise  for  all ! 

Praise  for  triumph,  or  for  trial, 
Prayer  swift  answered,  or  denial : 

Praise  for  all ! 

Praise  for  friends,  best  loved  and  loving ; 
And  the  love  in  all  removing : 

Praise  for  all ! 

For  the  days  of  health  and  gladness, 
And  the  nights  of  weeping  sadness : 

Praise  for  all ! 


CONFLICT. 


Tears,  though  wept  for  others'  sorrow, 
Or  the  joy  that  flies  to-morrow  : 

Praise  for  all ! 

For  the  path  made  plain  before  thee, 
For  the  dark  cloud  lined  with  glory  : 
Praise  for  all ! 

For  the  sickness  sent  to  chasten, 
And  the  chariot  home  to  hasten : 

Praise  for  all ! 

For  the  hope  that  waneth  never, 
For  the  rest  beyond  the  river : 

Praise  for  all ! 


CONFLICT. 

"  Behold,  0  God,  our  Shield,  and  look  upon  the  face  of  Thine 
Anointed." — Psalm  lxxxiv.  9. 

"  He  knoweth  the  way  that  I  take :  when  He  hath  tried  me,  I 
shall  come  forth  as  gold."  —  Job  xxiii.  10. 

Lord  !  my  soul  is  burdened 

By  a  weight  of  care, 
And  my  foot  is  taken 

In  the  fowler's  snare; 


CONFLICT. 


Darkness  gathers  o'er  me, 
I  shall  fall  or  flee  : 

Helper  of  the  helpless, 
Rise  and  succor  me  ! 


Dangers  seem  to  threaten, 

Tempters'  wiles  assail ; 
In  Thy  light  I  see  them, 

Yet  I  weakly  quail. 
Strange  unholy  terrors 

In  my  bosom  rise ; 
"What  distrustful  language  — 

Heavy  groans  and  sighs ! 


Thoughts  of  sin's  defilement, 

Born  of  faithless  mood, 
Hosts  of  unclean  devils, 

Guests  of  hell's  dark  brood, 
Leave  me  lame  and  mourning, 

Blind  to  seek  and  trace 
All  the  glorious  beauty 

Of  Immanuel's  face. 


Look,  oh,  look  upon  me ! 

See  my  wounds !  and  hear 
In  my  soul's  veiled  chambers, 

What  dishonoring  fear ! 


CONFLICT. 


Withered  arms  for  service, 

And  a  palsied  frame 
That  hath  scarce  a  heart-throb 

At  Thy  precious  name. 

Touch  me,  cleanse  me,  heal  me ! 

Thou  didst  give  me  life ; 
Speak  the  word,  and  save  me 

From  this  deadly  strife. 
Thine  is  full  salvation, 

And  the  gift  is  free : 
Helper  of  the  helpless, 

Rise  and  succor  me  ! 


Hast  Thou  cast  me  from  Thee  ? 

Well  Thou  mayst.     Ah,  no  ! 
Hold  me  fast,  sweet  Jesus  ! 

Whither  should  I  go  ? 
Should  I  seek  to  hide  me 

In  some  desert  spot, 
Earth  no  cavern  holdeth 

Where  my  God  is  not. 

Could  I  rise  to  heaven, 
Thus  by  fears  oppressed, 

There  art  Thou !     Descending 
To  the  grave's  dark  breast, 


CONFLICT.                                        7 

Even  there  Thou  reignest ; 

And  the  shades  of  night 

Open  lie  as  noon-day, 

To  Thy  piercing  sight ! 

Wherefore  am  I  thus,  Lord  ? 

I,  who  fain  would  show 

To  the  thirsty  pilgrim 

Where  the  waters  flow ; 

Where  the  milk  to  nourish, 

Where  the  wine  of  home, 

Are  so  freely  offered 

Unto  all  that  come. 

Father !  may  I  call  Thee 

Abba  —  Father  —  mine  ? 

Dost  Thou  look  upon  me, 

And  still  own  me  Thine? 

Ah  !  Thy  Spirit  shows  me 

Christ !  my  Priest  and  King, 

Sinless,  Stainless,  Perfect, 

Is  my  Offering. 

Look  on  Thine  Anointed; 

Let  my  tongue  be  mute, 

While  we  gaze  together 

On  my  Substitute. 

CONFLICT. 


Thou  art  full  well  pleased 
With  Thy  spotless  Lamb ; 

And  Thy  Spirit  tells  me 
What,  0  God,  I  am ! 


Lost,  abhorred,  and  loathsome, 

Leprous  and  unclean; 
Yet,  enrobed  in  Jesus, 

I  am  spotless  seen. 
Oh,  the  weight  of  glory 

It  is  mine  to  share ! 
Even  now  He  calls  me 

"  Altogether  fair." 

Lo,  I  see  Thee,  Jesus, 

Kansom  of  my  soul ! 
Hast  Thou  not  redeemed  me  ? 

Let  the  thunders  roll. 
Can  the  law  convict  me  ? 

Thou  hast  set  me  free ! 
Back,  thou  wily  Tempter, 

Jesus  died  for  me. 


Bend,  oh,  bend  my  will,  Lord ! 

This  —  my  only  aim ; 
For  in  light  or  darkness 

Thou  art  still  the  same. 


mxFLICT. 


Give  me,  or  withhold  then, 
What  Thou  seest  best ; 

Not  upon  Thy  gifts,  Lord  — 
On  Thyself  I  rest. 

Did  He  say,  "  To-morrow 

I  will  hear  thee"?    Nay! 
Full  and  free  the  fountain 

Floweth  every  day. 
Holy  Dove,  oft  grieved, 

Ere  my  tears  were  dried, 
To  my  listening  spirit 

Thy  still  voice  replied. 

"Child,  My  child!  be  patient: 

I  thy  sins  have  borne ; 
I  have  marked  the  conflict, 

And  the  scoffer's  scorn ; 
I  have  seen  the  sorrows 

Of  thy  broken  heart, 
And  in  thy  afflictions 

Borne  a  brother's  part. 

"Wouldst  thou  fear  the  darkness, 
Didst  thou  hate  the  light? 

"Would  thy  sin  displease  thee, 
Were  thy  sin  delight? 


10  CONFLICT. 


Evil  would  be  welcome, 
Wert  thou  of  the  earth : 

Child,  look  up  to  heaven, 

Whence  thou  hadst  thy  birth. 

"  Put  thy  heel  on  Satan, 

Draw  the  Spirit's  sword, 
Prove  thy  holy  breast-plate, 

Take  Me  at  My  word. 
Am  I  not  thy  Fortress  ? 

Wherefore  fall  or  fly  ; 
Grasp  thy  palm,  rejoicing 

In  My  victory. 

"  'Tis  the  lowliest  conquers ; 

'Tis  by  might  of  love 
That  the  weakest  soldier 

Doth  the  bravest  prove. 
Rest  thee,  weary  trembler ! 

Was  the  strife  unsent  ? 
Nay !  thy  King  was  with  thee  : 

Not  a  bow  was  bent, 

"  But  thy  Lord  who  loves  thee 

Guided  every  dart; 
See !  they  only  sent  thee 

Nearer  to  my  heart. 


CONFLICT.  11 


At  thine  hands  upraised 
Half  thy  foes  withdrew  ; 

Forward !  I  have  conquered, 
Thou  shalt  conquer  too. 

"  Child  !  in  Me  abiding, 

Nought  thy  foot  shall  move; 
Fear  not !  T  will  help  thee, 

Mine  is  changeless  love. 
Take  My  yoke  upon  thee, 

Learn  the  way  from  Me; 
I  am  meek  and  lowly, 

Meek  and  lowly  be. 

"  Take  My  yoke  —  I  bore  it, 

Lean  upon  My  breast ; 
I  have  fought  thy  battle, 

Share  with  me  my  rest. 
Soon  the  plains  of  glory 

Sinless  thou  shalt  tread ; 
My  right  hand  upholds  thee, 

Rise  —  be  undismayed. 


"  Trust  Me  —  only  trust  Me  ! 

Wherefore  shouldst  thou  quail  ? 
Can  a  weapon  prosper, 

Shall  a  foe  prevail, 


12  THE  FOURTH   WATCH. 

'Gainst  the  Lord's  Anointed  ? 

He  hath  set  their  bounds ; 
While  thy  faith,  though  feeble, 

Loving-kindness  crowns." 


THE   FOURTH   WATCH. 

Many  waters  cannot  quench  love  ;  neither  can  the  floods  drown  it. 
Sol.  Song  viii.  7. 

He  walketh  on  the  waters, 

Calm  in  the  midnight  storm ; 
The  seething  billow  beareth 

That  mild,  majestic  form  ; 
The  wind  is  but  His  chariot, 

Obedient  to  His  word. 
Who  knows  the  path  Thou  takest  ? 

Creator  !  Jesus !  Lord  ! 

He  walketh  on  the  waters, 

He  ruleth  wind  and  wave, 
The  storm-tossed  bark  He  steereth, 

He  watcheth  but  to  save. 
In  His  right  arm  is  safety, 

With  Him  is  life  and  light : 
Wait  for  Him,  though  He  tarry 

Till  the  fourth  watch  of  the  night. 


THE  FOURTH   WATCH  13 

Distrust  meets  no  upbraiding, 

All  terror  is  allayed ; 
"  Be  of  good  cheer,"  He  whispers, 

"Tis  I;  be  not  afraid." 
Hark  !  as  the  sweet  assurance 

Breaks  gently  on  the  ear, 
Each  sinking  heart  respondeth  — 

"  'Tis  He  !  be  of  good  cheer." 

'Tis  He  who  cleansed  the  leper, 

The  Evil  One  cast  out, 
'Tis  He  who  fed  the  hungry ; 

Ye  loved  ones,  can  ye  doubt? 
Who,  'neath  the  vault  of  heaven, 

E'er  yet  the  waters  trod, 
Or  quenched  their  foaming  fury, 

Save  Christ,  the  Son  of  God? 

Ah  !  while  on  earth  they  wandered, 

Those  often  weary  men, 
Forgat  they  e'er  that  whisper 

That  stole  upon  them  then  ? 
With  every  stormy  breaker 

The  Master  still  was  near ; 
His  love  upheld  His  weak  ones  — 

"  'Tis  I;  be  of  good  cheer." 

0  Son  of  Man  !  still  sleepless, 
When  others  toil  or  weep, 


14  THE  FOURTH   WATCH. 

Thou,  'midst  the  wildest  tempest, 

Dost  ceaseless  vigil  keep. 
Come,  Lord  !  our  fourth  watch  waneth ; 

Come  Thou  —  deliverance  bring ; 
Of  thy  little  band  the  Brother, 

The  Bridegroom,  and  the  King. 

Far  o'er  the  world's  wide  waters 

Thy  open  door  is  seen : 
Thy  dove,  with  white  wings  weary, 

Prays  Thee  to  take  her  in. 
There's  light  upon  the  billow 

As  the  wild  blast  sweepeth  by ; 
We  hear  the  heavenly  message, 

"  Be  not  afraid,  'tis  I." 

Oh,  chase  away  the  shadows, 

We  long  to  see  Thy  face  ; 
Each  lonely  hour  hath  brought  us 

Nearer  to  Thine  embrace : 
Come,  Lord  !     We  wait  Thy  coming ; 

With  Thee  is  joy  and  light ; 
Sweet  hope  !  soon,  soon  shall  vanish 

The  fourth  watch  of  our  night. 


THE  SINNER  SAVED.  15 


THE   SINNER   SAVED. 

"  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest."  — Matt.  xi.  28. 

"  Tell  me,  happy  Pilgrim, 

How  you  sought  and  found 
All  your  peace  and  gladness, 

On  this  barren  ground. 
Why  are  all  our  pleasures 

Dull  and  tame  to  you ; 
And  your  anxious  hours 

Seem  so  far  and  few  ?  " 

"  Not  from  Earth  or  Nature, 

Stranger,  doth  it  spring ; 
Birds  that  build  the  lowest 

Soar  aloft  to  sing. 
So  my  strain  is  gladdest 

When  aloft  I  rise, 
Farthest  from  my  earth-nest, 

Nearest  to  the  skies ! 

"  Once,  like  you,  I  questioned : 
Life  seemed  nothing  worth  ; 

Death,  a  gloomy  vision  !  — 
And  I  wandered  forth, 


16                              THE  SINNER  SAVED. 

Seeking  something  better 

Than  the  worldling's  lot; 

Rest,  and  peace,  and  pardon; 
But  I  knew  not  what. 

"  Thus  I  worked  and  fretted, 

Strove  to  keep  God's  law ; 

Vows  new-made,  and  broken, 

All  the  fruit  I  saw. 

Then  I  heard  of  Jesus  ! 

And,  while  drowned  in  tears, 

He  drew  gently  near  me, 
Quieting  my  fears. 

" '  Come/  He  said,  '  poor  sinner/ 

(Oh,  that  welcome  word 

Seemed  the  sweetest  message 
My  poor  heart  had  heard,) 
1  Come  I     My  work  is  finished, 

And  thy  labor  lost ; 

See  thy  soul's  redemption, 
And  the  price  it  cost.' 

"  Then  I  told  Him  over 

All  my  life  of  sin ; 
1  Now/  I  said,  l  or  never, 

Will  He  let  me  in  ! ' 

THE  SINNER  SAVED.  17 

Not  one  thought  I'd  given, 

All  those  long  years  past, 
To  the  dear  Redeemer 

I  had  found  at  last. 


"  So  I  spoke,  all  trembling, 

'  Lord  !  it  is  not  fit 
That  a  ragged  beggar 

At  Thy  table  sit. 
I  would  mend  my  garments, 

And  would  fitted  be 
For  the  King's  own  presence, 

Who  takes  heed  of  me.' 


11  Soft  He  spake,  so  sweetly, 

'  Seek  no  other  dress  ; 
Not  a  thread  is  lacking 

In  My  righteousness. 
I  a  mantle  give  thee 

None  beside  hath  wove ; 
Take  it  —  be  partaker 

Of  My  Father's  love ! 


"  '  All  the  wrath  —  thy  portion 
I  have  borne  from  God  ; 

From  thy  sins  I  wash  thee 
In  my  cleansing  Blood.' 


18  THE  SINNER  SAVED. 

Then  I  cried,  '  0  Saviour  ! 

In  Thy  boundless  grace, 
For  the  chief  of  sinners 

Thou  hast  found  a  place.' 

"  From  that  day  I  knew  Him,  — 

Christ !  my  Priest  and  King  ! 
Father  !  Friend !  Physician  ! 

Can  I  cease  to  sing  ? 
Nay,  until  He  call  me 

From  my  work  below, 
I  will  tell  His  praises 

Wheresoe'er  I  go. 

"  Enter,  stranger !     "Welcome  ! 

See,  the  way  is  clear  ! 
'Tis  the  Friend  of  sinners, 

That  awaits  thee  here. 
Come  !  believe,  and  trust  Him ! 

Grace  He'll  ne'er  deny, 
Since  He  saved  a  sinner, 

Such  an  one  as  I !  " 


HE  LOVETH  ME.  19 

HE  LOVETH  ME. 

Who  loved  me,  and  gave  Himself  for  me."  —  Gal.  ii.  20. 

Whene'er  my  faithless  footsteps  stray, 
I  miss  my  Lord  upon  the  way, 
And  then  —  how  hard  it  is  to  say, 

"  He  loveth  me." 

Wild  sounds  the  tempest  in  my  ear, 
Nor  sun,  nor  stars,  for  days  appear, 
And  yet  my  Jesus  still  is  near, 

He  loveth  me. 

All  other  love  can  soon  forget ; 
Estranged,  where  once  the  firmest  set. 
Wandering  and  weak  I  am,  and  yet 

He  loveth  me. 

How  can  I  doubt  Him?  for  my  name 
Is  graven  on  His  breast !     He  came 
To  bear  for  me  my  sin  and  shame ! 

He  loveth  me. 

Upon  the  Cross  I  see  Him  bleed, 
Mocked  with  a  crown  and  broken  reed  ! 
Made  sin  for  me !     0  soul,  indeed 

He  loveth  me. 


20  HE  LOVETH  ME. 


When,  drooping,  on  my  way  I  go, 
That  sweet  assurance  can  bestow 
Peace  in  the  darkest  hour :  I  know 

He  loveth  me. 

It  smoothes  for  me  the  roughest  road, 
It  bears  me  o'er  the  rising  flood ; 
All  things  together  work  for  good. 

He  loveth  me. 

It  is  the  shadow  from  the  heat, 
It  is  the  star  to  guide  my  feet, 
My  pillow,  and  my  night-song  sweet, 

"He  loveth  me.' 

When  clouds  upon  my  spirit  fall, 
And  sins  affright,  and  fears  appal, 
Up,  sinking  heart,  and  tell  Him  all ! 

He  loveth  me. 

He  loveth  me !     That  thought  hath  flung 
A  joy  and  gladness  o'er  my  song; 
Its  burden  echoes  all  day  long, 

"  He  loveth  me.' 

He  loveth  me !     Take  courage,  ye 
Who  sigh  for  Him  you  cannot  see  ; 
Sure,  none  should  ever  hopeless  be. 

He  loveth  me. 


MY  GARDEN-GROUND.  21 


MY   GARDEN-GROUND. 

"  My  Beloved  is  gone  down  into  His  garden,  to  the  beds  of  spices, 
to  feed  in  the  gardens,  and  to  gather  lilies."  —  Sol.  Song  vi.  2. 

God  granted  me  a  garden-ground 

Within  this  desert  land; 
And  thorns  bloomed  in  the  wilderness, 

By  heavenly  breezes  fanned. 
A  brook  ran  rippling  by  the  way, 

And  made  sweet  music  there ; 
The  fairest  vineyard  of  the  south 

Seemed  never  half  so  fair. 


One  came,  when  barren  lay  the  field, 

Of  gracious  speech  was  He ; 
As  mother  to  her  listening  child, 

Thus  spake  my  Lord  to  me : 
"  I  am  the  Husbandman,  and  thou 

From  me  this  land  dost  hold ; 
More  precious  is  the  smallest  blade 

Than  Ophir's  purest  gold. 

M  Work  for  Me,  work  thy  one  brief  hour, 
For  Me,  thy  Friend,  and  ne'er 

Dread  thou  the  drought,  or  fear  the  cloud, 
But  cast  on  Me  thv  care. 


22  MY  GARDEN-GROUND. 

Far  on  the  breeze,  each  winged  germ 
May  mock  thine  anxious  gaze  : 

Thou'lt  find  it  in  the  fatherland, 
The  growth  of  many  days. 

"  Eaise  thou  the  bruised  and  broken  plants 

The  storm  may  bend  around ; 
Shelter  for  me  the  tender  vine 

Within  thy  garden-ground. 
Let  not  the  lack  of  harvest  fruit 

Thy  heart's  allegiance  move  ; 
My  hand  deals  forth  the  best  for  thee, 

And  all  is  done  in  love. 


"  'Tis  not  for  thee  to  judge  the  need 

Of  watching,  tears,  and  toil ; 
A  fairer  clime  awaits  thy  plants, 

Now  in  a  foreign  soil. 
And  see !  to  cheer  thy  path  awhile, 

This  crystal  brook  shall  run ; 
Its  voice  shall  chime  in  happy  praise 

With  thine,  my  lonely  one  !  " 


I  answered,  "  Lord,  how  good  it  is  ! 

How  great  Thy  mercies  be  ! 
Yes,  I  will  keep  this  garden-ground, 

And  tend  it  but  for  Thee. 


MY  GARDEN-GROUND.  23 

All  Thine  !  for  ever,  Lord,  all  Thine  ! 

The  stream,  the  flowers,  the  fruit. 
Such  love  beams  in  Thy  gifts  to  me ! 

My  tongue  hath  long  been  mute : 

"  Now  I  can  only  say,  '  'Tis  Thine  ! ' 

Ask  what  Thou  lovest  best, 
And  I  will  cull  my  first  ripe  fruit, 

For  Thou  my  hand  hast  blest." 
So  day  by  day  I  worked  and  sang ; 

Though  many  a  night  I  wept 
To  see  the  blight  or  weed  arise, 

But  still  my  watch  I  kept. 

Brightest  beside  my  purling  brook 

My  buds  of  promise  grew  ; 
I  loved  the  sunshine  on  the  wave, 

And  the  sparkling  spray  it  threw. 
I  saw  reflected  in  its  face 

Our  April's  changing  sky, 
The  glory  of  the  sunset  eve, 

And  night's  fair  canopy. 

No  message  came  for  fruit  or  flower ; 

But,  as  I  passed  along 
At  noon,  I  missed  the  warbling  brook 

That  cheered  me  with  its  song. 


24  MY  GARDEN-GROUND. 

I  cried,  "  Oh,  anything  but  this 
Hadst  Thou  but  chosen,  Lord ! 

That  brook  had  sweeter  songs  for  me 
Than  any  summer  bird." 

He  eluded  not,  that  Husbandman, 

But  whispered,  while  I  mourned, 
"  Only  believe  !  "  and  then  I  thought 

My  little  brook  returned. 
It  soothed  me  with  an  angel  tongue, 

And  stilled  my  falling  tear : 
"  0  dear  one !  "  thus  it  seemed  to  sing, 

"  Rejoice  I  am  not  here ! 

"  My  voice  rings  in  thy  future  home, 

And  Jesus  loves  the  strain  ; 
Oh,  never,  never  wish  me  back 

'Mid  earthly  scenes  again. 
No  summer  heat  can  reach  me  there, 

No  winter's  frost  or  snow ; 
And  radiant  in  the  light  of  life 

My  rippling  wavelets  flow. 

"  Not  lost  for  thee  the  silver  stream, 
Not  dumb  my  summer  song ; 

Beyond  the  Jordan's  wave  it  flows 
Far  fairer  fields  among, 


MY  GARDEN-GROUND.  25 

Praising  the  love  that  marked  the  path 

That  once  was  blindly  trod  : 
Thus  we  together  still  make  glad 

The  city  of  our  God." 

So  comforted,  my  sorrowing  head 

Bowed  to  the  silence  there ; 
But  still  I  said,  "  No  other  brook 

Was  ever  half  so  fair." 
But  I  will  now  but  deeper  drink 

From  whence  its  source  began ; 
Deep  from  the  rivers  of  Thy  love, 

Whence,  Lord,  my  brooklet  ran. 


Still  worked  I  in  my  garden  ground, 

While  autumn  days  drew  nigh, 
And  then  the  Husbandman  returned. 

He  passed  my  ripe  grapes  by ; 
He  gathered  not  the  pom'granate, 

Nor  bent  the  green  fig's  bough ; 
Soft  breathing  o'er  the  beds  of  spice, 

His  voice  has  found  me  now. 


Close  at  my  side  a  lily  grew, 

A  fragile  bud  so  small ; 
None  marked  it,  but  I  cherished  it 

The  dearest  of  them  all. 


26  MY  GARDEN-GROUND. 

He  paused  beside  my  flower  awhile, 
My  heart  grew  faint  and  cold ; 

I  cried,  "  Lord,  wait ;  that  little  one 
Will  fairer  hues  unfold." 


He  heeded  not ;  He  plucked  my  bud, 

And,  smiling  on  me,  said, 
"  I  planted  it,  and  it  shall  bloom 

In  Paradise  instead : 
For  it  this  clime  is  all  too  cold  ; 

But  there,  'mid  Eden's  bowers, 
The  lily-bud  will  grow  to  be 

The  fairest  of  my  flowers. 

"Weep  not!  I  am  not  grieved  with  thee; 

Though  I  thy  treasures  cull, 
'Tis  but  to  give  them  back  again 

More  richly  beautiful. 
I  lent  them  to  thy  loving  heart, 

And  soon  thy  Lord  shall  say, 
1  Thy  work  is  done,  thy  crown  is  won, 

Eise  up  and  come  away.' 

"  Still  tend  for  me  one  fleeting  hour 

This  garden  of  thy  care, 
Days  there  will  be  when  thou  wilt  miss 

Thy  bud  and  streamlet  there: 


MY  GARDEN-GROUND.  27 

Look  to  the  plains  of  Paradise 

Where  joys  immortal  beam ; 
There  thou  wilt  find  thy  bud  a  flower, 

Thy  rippling  brook  a  stream. 

"  One  flows  in  anthems  rich  in  praise 

In  heaven's  eternal  rest ; 
Thy  folded  bud  will  blossom  fair 

On  Jesu's  tender  breast. 
Soon  shall  the  singing  of  the  birds 

Rejoice  thy  listening  ear; 
The  shadows  lengthening  in  the  sun 

Disclose  the  dawn  is  near." 


Now  on  I  go,  and  bless  the  spot 

Where  once  the  brooklet  ran, 
And  trace  the  wisdom  and  the  love 

That  led  the  Husbandman 
To  lend  awhile  the  pleasant  plant 

That  graced  my  garden-ground  ; 
And  those,  the  dearest  to  my  heart, 

Christ  hath  the  fairest  found. 


28  THE  FINGER   OF  00 D. 


THE   FINGER   OF   GOD. 

"  God  sent  not  His  Son  into  the  world  to  condemn  the  world  ;  but 
that  the  world  through  Him  might  be  saved."  —  John  in.  17. 
"  Never  man  spake  like  this  Man."  —  John  vii.  46. 

He  stooped,  and  wrote  upon  the  ground  : 

No  sound  the  silence  breaks ; 
Quick-heaving  breasts  and  clouded  brows 

Proclaim  that  conscience  wakes : 
Men  feel  that  God  Himself  is  there, 
Beneath  whose  sight  the  soul  lies  bare. 


"We  know  not  what  that  finger  traced 
To  meet  each  downcast  eye, 

What  long-forgotten  sins  arose 
In  slumbering  memory ; 

In  darkness  veiled  —  to  men  unknown, 

But  seen  by  God,  by  God  alone. 


He  reads  their  thoughts,  deceitful  all ; 

Clear  to  His  sight  they  shine ; 
Lust,  avarice,  murder,  serpent's  guile, 

And  last  —  their  dark  design. 
He  bids  the  sinless  cast  the  stone ; 
And  lo,  they  go  forth,  one  by  one ! 


THE  FINGER   OF  GOD.  29 

He  stooped  and  wrote.     Oh,  tender  still 
To  them  His  pure  eyes  scanned ! 

Each  reads  the  mystic  sign  aright 
None  else  may  understand. 

The  silent  witness  on  the  ground 

Tells  not  the  tale  to  ears  around. 


0  thou  sad  woman,  bowed  in  shame  ! 

Shalt  thou  e'er  rise  again  ? 
Behold,  the  helpless  stands  before 

The  righteous  Judge  of  men ! 
And  now,  thy  last  accuser  gone, 
The  Sinless  One  may  cast  the  stone. 

And  doth  He  cast  it  ?  Lifting  up 
Himself,  He  gazed  around. 

Alone  with  Jesus !  leave  her  there, 
She  hath  the  Eefuge  found  : 

Her  life,  her  guilty  life  is  o'er, 

He  bids  her  "  Go,  and  sin  no  more." 


Thus  to  the  sinner  speaks  He  still, 

Thus  does  He  speak  to  me, 
"  From  the  dark  thraldom  of  thy  sin 

I  came  to  set  thee  free." 
Saviour  and  sinner  stand  alone  : 
Oh,  let  the  Sinless  cast  the  stone. 


30  THE  FINGER   OF  GOD. 

Not  for  dread  condemnation  here 
Hath  Christ  this  dark  world  trod : 

The  holy  Saviour,  perfect  Man, 
The  spotless  Lamb  of  God, 

Came  but  a  pardon  free  to  give, 

And  bid  the  weeping  sinner  live. 

0  loving,  tender  Son  of  Man ! 

More  light  and  life  be  mine  : 
Teach  me  Thy  finger,  Lord,  to  trace 

In  every  mystic  sign, 
Writ  on  Thy  spangled  heavens  above, 
Or  earth's  dark  pages,  — "God  is  love." 

And  when  my  secret  sins  arise 
With  fierce  confounding  might, 

And  Satan,  with  malicious  rage, 
Darkens  my  day  to  night; 

Shall  my  accuser  then  be  found  ? 

Nay !  grace,  Thy  grace,  shall  more  abound. 

Yea,  let  me  be  alone  with  Thee, 
That  Thou  my  soul  mayst  scan ; 

Better  the  chastening  hand  of  God 
Than  tenderest  love  of  man. 

Thy  blood  shall  then  my  soul  restore, 

And  bid  me  "  Go,  and  sin  no  more." 


THE  MORNING   CLOUD.  31 


THE   MORNING  CLOUD. 

Who  maketh  the  clouds  His  chariots.     .     .     .     He  watereth  the 
hills  from  His  chambers."  —  Ps.  civ. 

A  storm  cloud  rose  from  its  ocean-bed, 

And  as  slowly  it  sailed  along, 
No  rest  it  found  on  the  beautiful  earth ; 
It  dimmed  the  smile  of  the  morning's  mirth, 

The  joy  of  the  July  song. 

It  seemed  to  mourn  that  the  fair  must  fade 

In  the  glow  of  the  summer  day : 
It  wept  o'er  the  beauty  it  could  not  share ; 
Then  on  to  the  heavens,  —  its  home  was  there,  — 

Its  dark  wings  bore  it  away. 

Over  the  meadows,  and  over  the  hills, 

"Where  many  a  shadow  had  flown, 
There  swept  the  cloud,  with  its  gathering  reef, 
Borne  wildly  along  by  the  wind's  wild  breath, 

Alone  —  and  a  lonely  one  ! 

Its  soft  tears  fell  o'er  the  new-mown  grass, 

And  brighter  the  green  that  it  wore ; 
The  water-lily  her  blossoms  outspread, 
And  the  drooping  daisy  upraised  her  head, 
Refreshed  from  that  heavenly  store. 


32  THE  MORNING   CLOUD. 

The  parched  earth  drank  up  the  crystal  drops; 

While  the  brook,  with  its  gurgling  rills, 
Proclaimed  that  the  cloud  had  not  wept  in  vain ; 
For  down  in  the  valley  it  wandered  again, 

To  sing  of  the  God  of  the  hills. 

Then  warbled  the  joyous  birds  in  the  brake, 

For  the  shower  so  soft  and  cool  ; 
The  panting  cattle,  that  seemed  to  sink 
In  the  noontide  stillness,  have  stooped  to  drink, 

Mid-way  in  the  glassy  pool. 

The  wild  goat  browsed  on  the  herbage  scant, 

Where  seldom  a  foot  had  trod  ; 
In  their  rocky  home  gambolled  the  conies  gray, 
For  the  heaven-sent  cloud  had  passed  that  way, 

And  they  found  their  food  from  God. 

The  moistened  herb  breathed  its  fragrant  breath, 

Where  a  traveller  paused  to  gaze : 
The  dark  cloud  borrowed  a  light  from  the  sky ; 
O'er  the  path  where  its  shade  had  passed  mournfully, 

There  echoed  a  song  of  praise. 

The  black  pall  rolled  o'er  the  rocky  coast, 

And  parted  before  his  eyes, 
At  the  sunset  hour  :  as  flowers  may  bloom 
From  unsightly  roots  in  the  earth's  dark  womb, 

It  spread  o'er  the  western  skies. 


THE  MORNING   CLOUD.  33 

It  gathered  the  rose  of  the  ruby's  rays, 

And  the  violet's  amethyst  shade ; 
Then  wrapped  the  hills  in  its  amber  fold, 
And  robed  the  valley  in  garments  of  gold, 

By  the  sun's  last  beams  arrayed. 

And  the  traveller  sighed  for  the  cloudless  land, 

Till  the  glory  of  earth  was  dim ; 
Most  precious  of  all  in  his  home  above 
The  Son  of  the  Father,  whose  boundless  love 

Gave  the  Lord  of  that  glory  to  him. 

His  soul  sped  on  to  his  Father's  house 

Afar  —  to  the  City  of  Light, 
"With  its  fair  foundations  and  pearly  gates, 
Where  Christ  in  the  mansion  His  loved  one  waits, 

In  the  day  that  hath  no  more  night. 

He  blessed  the  sorrow  that  darkened  his  day, 

The  cross  it  was  his  to  bear ; 
It  lifted  from  earth  each  low  desire, 
As  the  cloud  of  the  morn  was  a  chariot  of  fire,  — 

The  fairest,  where  all  is  fair. 

The  cloud  must  come,  and  the  tears  will  fall, 

As  God  sendeth  forth  the  rain ; 
The  shadows  are  weaving  the  rainbow's  zone, 
And  each  bright  ray  is  a  lonely  one, 

Till  gathered  to  heaven  again. 


34  THE  BROKEN  SLUMBER. 


THE  BROKEN  SLUMBER. 

"Woman!  why  weepest  thou ?  whom  seekest  thou?"  —  John 
xx.  15. 

"  I  sleep,  but  my  heart  waketh  :  it  is  the  voice  of  my  Beloved  that 
knocketh,  saying,  Open  to  me."  — Sol.  Song  v.  2. 

As  the  mourning  bride,  awaking 
From  her  slumber,  wandered  forth ; 

Weeping  for  her  Lord  departed, 
Dwelling  on  His  matchless  worth, 


Till  Jerusalem's  careless  daughters 
Listened  to  her  wail  of  woe, 

Crying,  "  "Who  is  thy  Beloved, 

That  thou  weep'st  His  absence  so  ?  " 


Thus  I  comfort  me,  recounting, 
Lord,  Thy  wondrous  works  of  old, 

When  Thy  voice,  that  woke  the  tempest, 
Euled  the  waves  that  o'er  me  rolled. 


I  Thy  mercies  will  remember, 
As  my  soul  desponding  lies, 

And  their  memory  shall  upbear  me, 
O'er  the  earth-mists,  to  the  skies. 


THE  BROKEN  SLUMBER.  35 

By  the  sleeper  ceaseless  watching, 
When  temptation's  hour  was  nigh, 

I  declare  how  faithful  Thou,  Lord, 
And  Thou  know'st  how  faithless  I. 

Could  I  dwell  on  Thy  perfections, 

Tell  how  fair  Thy  features  be, 
Men  would  leave  their  senseless  pleasures, 

And  go  seek  my  Lord  with  me. 

Yet  the  lost  light,  sore  lamented, 

Could  alone  the  shadow  leave ; 
If  it  flee  not  at  my  pleading, 

Sure  some  blessing  it  will  give. 

Like  the  day-clouds,  dark  with  showers, 
Which  with  spring-tide  duly  come, 

As  the  sunny  harvest  season 

Ere  the  grain  is  gathered  home ; 

So  my  winter  and  my  summer, 

Night  and  morn,  and  twilight  days, 

Eaging  heat,  and  tempest  thunder, 
Shall  unite  to  sing  Thy  praise. 

Lord,  it  is  Thyself  I  sigh  for, 

And  I  count  past  joys  my  pain  ; 
Thoughts  of  Elim's  wells  and  palm  trees 

Only  make  me  thirst  again. 


36  THE  BROKEN  SLUMBER. 

0  dull  heart !  and  couldst  thou  slumber 
When  thy  Lord  was  at  the  door, 

And  His  locks  with  night-dews  heavy? 
Had  He  never  watched  before  ? 

"Was  there  not  a  lonesome  garden  ? 

There  that  head  was  bowed  for  thee, 
Where  the  myrrh  and  wormwood  mingled 

'Neath  the  mystic  olive  tree. 

Didst  thou,  when  His  fond  hand  beckoned, 
Eead  thy  name  engraved  in  blood  ? 

And  His  footprints  —  dost  thou  follow 
In  the  narrow  path  they  trod  ? 

Heart  of  love,  so  pierced  and  broken ! 

Ah,  though  fierce  the  soldier's  spear, 
Yet  its  thrust  was  ne'er  so  cruel 

As  my  own  reluctant  ear. 

Where  was  sorrow  like  His  sorrow  ? 

Nay  ;  not  since  the  world  began 
Was  there  one  to  bear  the  burden 

That  He  bore  —  the  Sinless  Man ! 

Soul !  if  at  thy  door  He  speaketh, 
Wilt  thou  rise  and  open  now  ? 

Though  the  thorn-wreath  be  the  glory 
Of  that  bruised  and  bleeding  brow. 


THE  BROKEN  SLUMBER.  37 

Wouldst  thou  ?     'Tis  the  risen  Jesus  ! 

Answerest  thou  with  closed  door, 
When  He  comes  in  love  to  seek  thee, 

Where  so  oft  ye  met  before  ? 

Wilt  thou  find  excuse  to  linger ; 

Or,  with  listless  dull  delay, 
Greet  the  voice  that  longs  to  whisper, 

"  Eise,  my  love,  and  come  away  "  ? 

Rather  —  up,  and  gird  thy  garment ! 

Fear  not  that  thy  feet  be  soiled ; 
He  who  watcheth  by  thy  lattice 

Calls  thee  His — the  undefiled! 

Canst  thou  hear  a  Saviour  suing  ? 

Wilt  thou  let  Him  call  in  vain; 
And,  thy  peace  and  joy  forsaking, 

Only  wake  —  to  sleep  again  ? 

Oh,  Thy  blood,  sweet  Lamb,  hath  power : 

In  Thy  righteousness  complete 
I  would  hide  me.     Blessed  Jesus, 

I  behold  Thy  hands  —  Thy  feet. 

By  Thy  grace,  Thy  love,  I  triumph  ; 

And  my  praise  shall  fuller  be, 
While  I  tell  how  rich  Thy  mercy 

Unto  me,  Lord —  yea,  to  me. 


38  THE  PRAYER    VESSEL. 


THE   PRAYER  VESSEL. 

1  Peter  ii.  5. 

"  He  that  had  received  the  five  talents  went  and  traded  with  tin 
same,  and  made  them  other  five  talents."  —  Matt.  xxv.  16. 

Of  God's  divinest  blessings, 

0  child,  thou  art  the  steward. 
Send  forth  thy  prayer-girt  vessel, 

By  faith's  strong  hand  secured  ; 
Chartered  by  Christ's  own  promise, 

Thy  frail  bark  ne'er  shall  fail, 
And  if  becalmed  it  tarry, 

Thy  breath  may  swell  the  sail. 

Bear  thou  thy  brother's  burden  ; 

The  tear  by  pity  stirred 
Begets  the  sigh  for  succor, 

The  cheering  wayside  word. 
Fast  are  the  seasons  passing ; 

Each  garnered  grain  may  be 
Seen  in  the  Land  of  Glory, 

In  some  celestial  tree. 

If  the  red  gold  thou  hast  not, 
Nor  precious  things  of  earth, 

Thou  hast  unfailing  riches 

Where  gold  is  nothing  worth ; 


THE  PRAYER    VESSEL.  39 

Thou'lt  have  some  garden  spices, 

Though  thy  land  seem  bleak  and  bare, 

For  'mid  the  many  mansions 
There  blooms  a  garden  fair. 


Send  forth  thy  heart-store  bravely, 

No  prayer  hath  e'er  been  lost ; 
Thy  tears  and  sighs  are  numbered ; 

Thy  Father  knows  the  cost. 
"With  loving  heart  devising 

Burdens  for  every  breeze, 
Trust  thou  the  wealth  to  meet  them 

In  God's  rich  granaries. 

Send  it !     In  worldly  blindness 

If  men  should  mock  thy  trade, 
God's  blessings  rest  upon  thee, 

Lade  on  !  be  not  afraid ; 
Mean  unto  them  thy  measure, 

The  prayer  of  patient  years, 
Or  thy  heart's  secret  service, 

That  Jesus'  smile  endears. 


Thy  track  may  seem  all  shadow, 
And  hope  be  lost  to  sight ; 

Fear  not  —  trust  on  :  the  darkness 
To  Christ,  the  Lord,  is  light. 


40  THE  PRAYER    VESSEL. 

He  guards  thy  love-sent  vessel, 
And  rich  He  counts  thy  store ; 

Thy  cargo  bears  no  sorrow 
Back  from  the  unseen  shore. 


Thy  wealth  upon  the  waters 

Cast  thou,  and  tremble  not ; 
In  angel  habitations 

No  prayer  will  be  forgot : 
So  speed  —  speed  for  thy  vessel 

Upon  the  trackless  main  ! 
The  breeze  that  wafts  thy  treasures 

Will  blessings  brine;  again. 

When  from  the  safe  "  hereafter  " 

Thou  ponderest  o'er  the  past, 
Thou'lt  own  Who  ruled  the  waters 

On  which  thy  bread  was  cast ; 
For  never  yet  confounded, 

Since  flowed  time's  changeful  flood, 
Was  the  merchantman  who  trusted 

His  goodly  store  to  God. 


HA  VE  FAITH  IN  GOD.  41 


HAVE   FAITH  IN  GOD. 

Have  faith  in  God !  for  He  who  reigns  on  high 
Hath  borne  thy  grief,  and  hears  the  suppliant's  sigh; 
Still  to  His  arms,  thine  only  refuge,  fly. 

Have  faith  in  God ! 

Fear  not  to  call  on  Him,  O  soul  distressed ! 
Thy  sorrow's  whisper  woos  thee  to  His  breast : 
He  who  is  oftcnest  there  is  oftenest  blest. 

Have  faith  in  God ! 

Lean  not  on  Egypt's  reeds ;  slake  not  thy  thirst 
At  earthly  cisterns.     Seek  the  kingdom  first. 
Though  man  and  Satan  fright  thee  with  their  worst, 

Have  faith  in  God. 

Go,  tell  Him  all!     The  sigh  thy  bosom  heaves 

Is  heard  in  heaven.     Strength  and  grace  He  gives, 

Who  gave  Himself  for  thee.     Our  Jesus  lives. 

Have  faith  in  God ! 


42  THE  LIVING  SAVIOUR. 


THE  LIVING  SAVIOUR. 

11 1  know  that  ye  seek  Jesus  which  was  crucified  ;  He  is  not  here 
for  He  is  risen,  as  He  said."  —  Matt,  xxviii.  5,  6. 

"  Then  were  the  disciples  glad  when  they  saw  the  Lord." — John 
xx.  20. 

I  wept  beneath  the  Cross  that  bore 

The  Lamb  for  sinners  slain ; 
And  oft  I  wandered,  oft  returned, 

To  gaze  on  Him  again. 
My  soul  had  scarce  a  gleam  of  hope, 

Though  'neath  the  Cross  I  stood ; 
Yet  I  could  say  that  Jesus  died, 

And  life  is  in  His  blood. 

But  when  the  quickened  pulse  began 

In  this  dull  heart  to  move, 
I  had  no  rest  till  I  beheld 

The  Object  of  my  love: 
I  longed  to  know  the  spotless  Man 

Who  bore  my  sin  for  me, 
Who  burst  the  bonds  of  death  and  hell 

To  set  the  prisoner  free. 

The  cravings  of  my  restless  soul, 

Of  Christ  Himself  were  born. 
Like  Mary,  at  the  empty  grave, 

That  resurrection  morn, 


THE  LIVING  SAVIOUR.  43 

So,  in  the  shadowy  twilight,  I 

Still  sought  Him,  far  and  wide, 
Nor  knew  the  One  who  led  me  on 

Was  Christ  the  Crucified. 


I  thought  the  Lord,  enthroned  above, 

Would  take  no  heed  of  me ; 
And  death  indeed  were  gain,  if  I 

My  risen  Lord  could  see. 
And  yet  He  guided  every  step, 

Else  had  I  never  known 
His  love  that,  for  my  waiting  soul, 

Hath  rolled  away  the  stone. 

I  thought  but  of  His  bleeding  brow, 

His  wounded  hands  and  feet ; 
I  sought  Him  with  the  multitude, 

But  Christ  I  did  not  meet. 
Some  said,  "  The  Saviour  dwelleth  here, 

And  only  here  is  He ;  " 
And  others  said,  "  Nay,  come  with  us, 

Or  Christ  you  cannot  see." 

"  Come  forth  and  serve,  and  be  content," 

Some  busy  laborer  cried. 
I  sadly  answered,  "  Nay,  I  seek 

The  Lord  I  crucified ! 


44  THE  LIVING  SAVIOUR. 

How  can  I  tend  your  vineyards  ?  —  how 

Scatter  the  seed  around, 
Until  the  Master  of  the  field, 

The  living  Lord,  be  found  ? 


"  My  vine  would  bear  no  fruit  for  Him, 

Though  rich  might  be  the  leaves ; 
And  though  in  weeping  I  might  sow, 

I  still  should  find  no  sheaves. 
I  sigh  for  God,  the  living  God : 

For  Him  my  soul  doth  wait ; 
None  tell  me  where  He  dwells,  and  I 

Am  sad  and  desolate." 


Lo  here,  lo  there,  I  sought  Him  far, 

The  Bearer  of  my  sin ; 
I  missed  the  kingdom  of  His  grace, 

And  sought  it  not  within. 
Shrouded  in  daily  circumstance, 

I  little  knew  Him  then, 
Or  that  my  Lord's  delights  were  still 

Among  the  sons  of  men. 

Sickness  and  sorrow  came  at  length, 
And  closed  my  chamber  door  ; 

My  Lord  !  then  wast  Thou  found  of  me, 
And  my  long  search  was  o'er. 


THE  LIVING  SAVIOUR.  45 

And  since  the  day  Thou  bad'st  me  cast 

Each  rising  care  on  Thee, 
Thou  hast  made  in  this  wilderness 

A  well  of  peace  for  me. 

Not  only  had  the  dying  Lamb 

Washed  all  my  sins  away, 
But  Jesus,  Son  of  God  and  Man, 

Arose  for  me  that  day. 
Dark  clouds,  all  glory-lined,  revealed 

The  way  my  Saviour  came ; 
And  forth  He  bade  His  happy  child 

The  glorious  news  proclaim. 

"  The  Lord  is  risen  indeed,"  and  now 

Our  Kinsman  He  appears ; 
He  walks  beside  us  on  the  road, 

And  shares  our  smiles  and  tears ; 
And  still,  in  love  omnipotent, 

Before  our  Father's  face, 
He  pleads  the  open  door  of  hope 

For  every  heir  of  grace. 

Long  time  I  mused  upon  my  sins : 

Ah,  well  might  I  be  sad ! 
But,  like  Thy  dear  disciples,  Lord, 

I  saw  Thee,  and  was  glad. 


46  THE  LIVING  SAVIOUR. 

My  hope  Thou  art  —  upon  the  Cross, 
My  strength  —  upon  the  Throne, 

Thy  death  my  life,  Thy  pain  my  peace 
Thrice  blessed  Three  in  One ! 


What  though  the  fig-tree  blossom  not, 

Nor  vine  its  fruitage  yield, 
The  promise  of  the  olive  fail, 

The  harvest  from  the  field, 
The  fair  flock  perish  from  the  fold, 

And  from  the  stalls  the  herd, 
Shall  I  not  trust  in  God  my  strength, 

And  rest  upon  His  Word? 

He  is  my  portion  !     He  hath  taught 

My  murmuring  lips  to  praise, 
And  He  will  guide  my  feeble  feet 

In  His  most  holy  ways. 
Lord  !  search  my  heart  with  jealous  love, 

And  reign  Thou  there  alone ; 
For  Thou  art  mine,  and  I  am  Thine, 

Eternally  Thine  own. 


ACCEPTED  IN  THE  BELOVED.  47 


ACCEPTED   IN   THE   BELOVED. 

"  The  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  shall  be  glad  for  them ; 
and  the  desert  shall  rejoice,  and  blossom  as  the  rose."  —  Isa.  xxxv.  1. 

"  He  hath  done  all  things  well :  He  maketh  both  the  deaf  to  hear, 
and  the  dumb  to  speak."  —  Mark  vii.  37. 

I  strove  to  speak  for  Thee,  sweet  Master; 

No  word  could  I  falter  or  frame : 
My  tears  in  my  shame  flowed  the  faster ; 

Dumb  lips  could  not  stammer  Thy  name. 


Through  many  a  night-watch  I  sought  Thee, 
My  burden  before  Thee  I  spread, 

And  still  for  the  blessing  besought  Thee : 
Oh,  speak,  and  give  life  to  the  dead  I 


Thou  knowest  the  soul  I  have  sighed  for, 
But  darker  and  colder  it  grows, 

And  faithless  this  heart  Thou  hast  died  for : 
Can  this  desert  e'er  bloom  as  the  rose  ? 


One  thought  in  this  conflict  I  cherish, 
It  gleams  'mid  Thy  treasures  of  grace  ; 

Thou  wouldst  not  that  any  should  perish : 
The  light,  Lord,  is  waning  apace. 


48  ACCEPTED  IN  THE  BELOVED. 

I  see  but  the  thistle  and  brier, 

No  beauty  the  desert  adorns  : 
The  branches  lie  dead  for  the  fire, 

My  tears  only  water  the  thorns. 

I  lay  down  and  slept  in  my  sorrow, 
No  more  could  my  heart  find  to  say ; 

I  cast  all  my  care  of  to-morrow 
On  Him  who  bore  with  me  to-day. 

My  Shepherd  His  night-watch  was  keeping, 
He  saw  me  with  sorrow  oppressed, 

And  soft  on  the  we^ry  one  sleeping 
Arose  a  sweet  vision  of  rest. 

Dark  and  cold  seemed  the  path  I  was  treading, 
The  long,  tangled  grass  round  me  lay, 

The  forest  trees  mournfully  shedding 
Their  leaves  on  my  desolate  way. 

The  thorn  and  the  bramble  abounded, 
The  wild,  barren  waste  round  me  spread ; 

But  sweet  in  the  stillness  resounded, 
"  The  Lord  can  give  life  to  the  dead  !  " 

Low  down  where  the  shadow  was  deep 
I  marked  a  white  violet  bloom ; 

(A  watch  o'er  the  dead,  Lord,  thou  keepest  ; 
Thy  hand  rolled  the  stone  from  the  tomb.) 


ACCEPTED  IN  THE  BELOVED.  49 

The  fair  buda  unfolded  before  me, 

Though  heavy  and  wet  with  the  rain ; 

And  the  message  of  peace  that  they  bore  me, 
I  would  I  could  whisper  again. 

"God  searcheth  the  heart,  and  He  readeth 
Its  depths,  and  its  weakness,  and  fears ; 

He  knoweth  the  path  that  He  leadeth : 
These  flowers  were  planted  in  tears. 

M  The  dew  of  thy  heart  in  thy  sorrow 
Fell  over  the  seed.     Dost  thou  see? 

Thou  art  sowing  to-day  ;  but  to-morrow 
Shalt  reap  in  the  harvest  with  Me. 

"My  milk  and  my  honey  I  gather; 

The  myrrh-dew  is  precious  as  wine :  • 
Accepted  in  Me  by  My  Father, 

Thy  love  and  thy  labor  are  Mine. 

"  For  prayer,  like  a  life-giving  river, 
Afar  through  the  wilderness  flows, 

And  faith's  feeblest  hold  is  for  ever  : 
The  desert  shall  bloom  as  the  rose." 

The  ears  of  the  deaf  He  will  open, 

The  tongue  of  the  dumb  shall  speak  plain ; 

Oh,  trust  in  the  word  He  has  spoken  : 
Thou  never  canst  trust  Him  in  vain. 


50  WITHOUT  MONEY  AND   WITHOUT  PRICE. 

My  Father,  Thy  smile  beameth  o'er  me, 

Through  Him  who  still  pleads  at  Thy  throne ; 

Thy  child  shares  His  service  and  glory, 
Accepted  in  Jesus  alone. 


WITHOUT   MONEY   AND   WITHOUT   PRICE. 

AN    INVITATION. 
"  Let  him  that  is  atliirst  come."  —  Rev.  xxii.  17. 

Come  to  Jesus  !     Are  you  lonely? 

Solace  sweet  He  will  afford. 
Lean  on  Jesus  —  Jesus  only  ! 

Come,  and  find  a  loving  Lord ! 

Are  your  trials  past  the  telling  ? 

Are  your  sins  as  crimson  dye  ? 
Jesus  sees  your  sad  heart  swelling 

'Neath  accusing  memory. 

He  is  waiting.     Will  you  leave  Him 
Pleading  at  your  heart  in  vain  ? 

He  is  willing,  oh,  believe  Him ; 
He  may  never  call  again. 


WITHOUT  MONET  AND   WITHOUT  PRICE.        51 

He  hath  never  yet  forsaken 

One  who  trusts  alone  in  God ; 
He  your  life-long  debt  hath  taken, 

And  hath  paid  it  with  His  Blood. 

From  your  sins  He  waits  to  cleanse  you, 
You  !  the  slave  by  Satan  bound; 

Messages  of  love  He  sends  you  : 

Where  can  such  a  Friend  be  found  ? 

Are  you  sick  ?     His  word  can  heal  you. 

Are  you  weary  with  the  strife  ? 
Are  you  hungry  ?     He  can  fill  you 

With  the  heavenly  Bread  of  Life. 

Now  !  it  is  the  time  to  try  it : 
Test  Him  by  His  written  Word ; 

Come !  for  He  will  ne'er  deny  it  ; 
Come  to  Christ,  the  Bisen  Lord ! 

Do  you  fear  His  sharp  reproving 

That  you  did  not  go  before  ; 
That  you  left  Him  —  so  unloving  — 

Waiting  long  time  at  your  door  ? 

He  will  only  smile  and  greet  you, 
Chasing  shadows  from  your  brow; 

He  will  surely  run  to  meet  you, 
Saying,  "Thou  art  welcome  now  !  " 


52  THE   WAYSIDE   WATCHER. 

By  still  waters  He  will  lead  you, 
In  green  pastures  you  shall  rest; 

And  the  pierced  hands  that  freed  you 
Bear  you  on  His  tender  breast. 

Come,  oh,  come  this  day,  and  try  it ; 

Jesus'  words  are  proved  and  true  : 
Take  His  gift ;  you  cannot  buy  it ; 

He  hath  waited  long  for  you. 


THE   WAYSIDE   WATCHER. 

Thou  shalt  know  that  I  am  the  Lord  ;    for  they  shall  not  be 
ashamed  that  wait  for  Me."  —  Isa.  xlix.  23. 

"  All  day  long  you  sit  here  idle, 

And  the  Master  at  the  door ! 
The  fields  are  white  to  harvest, 

And  the  day  is  almost  o'er. 
You  are  dreaming  !  you  are  dreaming  ! 

Time  is  gliding  fast  away ; 
See!  the  eventide  is  waning, 

Soon  shall  break  eternal  day." 

"  Brother,  my  hand  is  feeble, 
My  strength  is  well-nigh  spent : 

I  saw  you  all  at  noon-day, 

And  I  marked  the  way  ye  went. 


THE    WAYSIDE   WATCHER.  53 

I  cried,  '  God's  blessing  on  them, 
What  a  favored  band  they  be ! 

But  I'll  watch  upon  the  highway, 
God  may  find  a  work  for  me.' " 


"  Yet  you  tarry,  yet  you  tarry,' 

Said  the  laborer  again  ; 
"  You  may  idle  on  the  highway, 

And  wait  all  day  in  vain. 
'Tis  easy  labor  —  '  watching  ' : 

On  the  dusty  road  we  tread 
To  toil  within  the  vineyard  : 

Go  out  and  work  instead." 


The  watcher  smiled  and  answered, 

"  My  brother,  is  it  so  ? 
Who  waiteth  on  the  Master, 

The  Master's  will  shall  know. 
He  hath  taught  me  one  sweet  lesson, 

I  have  learnt  it  not  too  late,  — 
There  is  service  for  the  feeblest, 

Who  only  stand  and  wait. 


"  I  sat  me  by  the  hedge-row, 
No  burden  could  I  bear, 

But  '  Oh,'  I  thought,  '  how  blessed 
In  the  field  to  have  a  share  ! ' 


54  THE  WAYSIDE   WATCHER. 

The  loving  Master  whispered, 
Through  the  often  lonely  day, 

'  Still  wait  on  Me,  thou  weak  one  ; 
The  lame  shall  take  the  prey.' 

"  Not  long  I  tarried  watching  : 

A  wayfarer  drew  nigh, 
He  was  weary,  sad,  and  hungry, 

For  the  glowing  sun  was  high ; 
His  foot  lagged  faint  and  fainter, 

His  eyes  were  downward  cast : 
That  laborer  by  my  lattice 

At  early  morn  had  passed. 

"  I  drew  him  'neath  the  trellis 

Of  the  vine's  inviting  shade, 
Down  by  the  soft  green  pasture 

Our  Shepherd's  love  hath  made. 
I  brought  him,  from  the  streamlet, 

Fresh  water  for  his  feet ; 
I  spread  the  bread  before  him, 

And  bade  him  rest  and  eat. 


"  He  bathed  in  the  bright  fountain, 
And  then,  refreshed  and  strong, 

He  journeyed  on  rejoicing, 
And  rejoiced  me  by  his  song. 


THE   WAYSIDE   WATCHER.  55 

Where,  on  the  dusty  wayside, 

The  traveller  had  been, 
Stood  One,  in  heavenly  beauty, 

With  more  than  regal  mien. 


" '  I  thank  thee/  said  the  Stranger, 

'  For  all  thy  cares  afford, 
For  rest,  and  food,  and  welcome, 

Beside  thy  simple  board.' 
1  Nay,  Lord,'  I  said,  '  what  succor 

Have  I  bestowed  on  Thee  ? ' 
1  Thy  service  to  my  servant 

Hath  all  been  done  to  Me.' 


"  Oh,  it  was  well  worth  watching 

A  summer's  day  alone  ; 
Well  worth  the  weary  waiting, 

To  hear  His  sweet  '  Well  done ! ' 
Is  it  too  small  a  matter  ?  — 

That  in  man's  foolish  pride, 
He  scorns  one  heart  to  gladden 

For  which  the  Saviour  died. 


"  0  ever  blessed  Master  ! 

Thy  field  hath  need  of  all, 
And  better,  stronger  servants 

Stand  ready  at  Thy  call ; 


56  THE   WAYSIDE   WATCHER. 

But  Thou  hast  ne'er  forsaken 
One  waiting  by  the  way  : 

Still  meet  me  with  Thy  promise, 
That  '  the  lame  shall  take  the  prey.' 

"  From  the  tangled  thicket  near  me 

I  heard  a  mournful  cry  : 
A  little  child  had  wandered 

From  the  sunny  path  hard  by ; 
His  hands  were  torn  with  briers, 

His  hot  tears  fell  like  rain ; 
And  he  wept,  lest  he  should  never 

See  his  father's  face  again. 

"  Close  to  my  heart  I  drew  him, 

And  pointed  to  the  sky ; 
I  showed  him  how  the  dark  clouds, 

So  slowly  sailing  by, 
But  veiled  the  bright  sun's  radiance 

From  valley  and  from  hill ; 
For  the  faithful  sun  was  shining 

In  all  his  glory  still. 

"  He  ceased  to  weep,  and  listened ; 

I  soothed  his  childish  woe ; 
Then  on  the  way  I  led  him, 

And  soon  beheld  him  go 


THE  WAYSIDE   WATCHER.  57 

Back  through  the  green  fields  singing  : 

Sweet  was  the  joyful  sound, 
That  told  the  father's  welcome, 

And  the  little  wanderer  found. 


"  Then  on  the  highway,  near  me, 

I  saw  the  Stranger  stand, 
Stranger  no  more !     He  guided 

The  fair  child  by  the  hand. 
1  I  thank  thee,'  said  He  softly  ; 

1  Thou  hast  not  watched  in  vain : 
Behold  my  child  returned 

Safe  to  my  arms  again  ! ' 

"  "What  grace  is  Thine,  0  Master, 

For  work  so  poor  and  scant ! 
How  glorious  is  the  guerdon 

My  loving  Lord  doth  grant ! 
I  only  saw  a  nursling 

Was  wandering  astray. 
Oh,  it  is  worth  cross-bearing 

To  wait  for  Thee  one  day ! 

"  Have  ye  known  the  shadows  darken 
Over  weary  nights  of  pain, 

And  hours  that  seem  to  lengthen 
Till  the  night  comes  round  again  ? 


58  THE   WAYSIDE   WATCHER. 

The  folded  hands  seem  idle  : 
If  folded  at  His  word, 

'Tis  a  holy  service  rendered 
In  obedience  to  the  Lord. 


"  Ye  know  the  joy  of  labor 

Within  the  busy  field ; 
But  there  are  deeper  pleasures 

A  faithful  heart  may  yield. 
To  willing  ones  that  suffer, 

And  listen  at  His  feet, 
From  the  far-off  land  God  giveth 

The  fruit  of  life  to  eat. 


"  Brief  is  my  hour  of  labor : 

My  Lord  my  lot  hath  cast ; 
He  giveth  royal  wages, 

To  the  first-called  as  the  last. 
I  have  seen  Him  in  His  beauty, 

While  waiting  here  alone ; 
I  know  Him  ever  near  me, 

For  He  cannot  leave  His  own. 


"  None  e'er  shall  lack  a  service, 
Who  only  seek  His  will  ; 

For  He  doth  teach  His  children 
To  suffer  and  be  still. 


ISAAC.  59 


In  love's  deep  fount  of  treasures 
Such  precious  tilings  are  stored; 

Laid  up  for  wayside  watchers, 
Who  wait  upon  the  Lord." 


ISAAC. 

"  Like  as  a  father  pitietli  his  children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth  them 
that  fear  Him.  For  He  knoweth  our  frame  ;  He  remembereth  that 
we  are  dust." — Psalm  ciii.  13,  14. 

Not  within  thy  heart's  best  chamber, 
In  fond  memory's  fragrant  amber, 

Hoard  the  treasure  God  hath  given ; 
For  the  moth  of  time  will  fray  it, 
And  the  rust  of  earth  decay  it : 

Lay  thy  loved  one  up  —  in  heaven. 

He  who  lent  it  safe  can  keep  it : 
While  He  sees  thee  over-weep  it, 

Will  He  spurn  thy  sob  of  sorrow  ? 
Tenderly  He  bendeth  o'er  thee  ; 
Forty-fold  He  will  restore  thee, 

In  the  cloudless  land  —  to-morrow. 

Up  the  mountain  —  slowly  —  slowly, 
For  the  sacrifice  is  holy : 

Doth  He  call  dead  hearts  to  follow  ? 


60  ISAAC. 


Nay,  but  living  ones  :  well  knowing, 
That  the  life-tide  overflowing 
Pays  no  tribute  cold  and  hollow. 

Clings  the  sick  child,  faint  and  ailing ; 
Doth  the  mother  mock  its  wailing, 

Feeble  though  the  hands  that  hold  it? 
Closer  —  closer  to  her  bosom 
Will  she  clasp  the  fading  blossom, 

And  in  deeper  love  enfold  it. 

Lay  it  down  —  thy  heart's  best  treasure ; 
Christ  alone  the  pang  can  measure. 

Doth  He  count  thee  an  offender, 
For  the  trembling  hand  that  brings  it, 
Or  the  sigh  when  sorrow  wrings  it, 

O'er  a  love  so  true  and  tender  ? 

Through  the  falling  tears,  bedewing 
All  the  piled  wood  of  thy  doing, 

He  His  loving  heart  revealeth  : 
Every  silent  pang  is  needed, 
Not  a  tear-drop  falls  unheeded ; 

He  His  sweet  acceptance  sealeth. 


Wilt  thou  trust  Him,  though  He  gather 

Back  thy  loved  one  ?     'Tis  thy  Father  ! 

And  He  knows  thee  sad  and  lonely. 


ISAAC.  61 


Up  the  mount !     One  standeth  near  thee, 
And  thy  sorrows  more  endear  thee ; 
Journey  on  with  "  Jesus  only." 

"Wait  not :  thy  warm  breath  may  mar  it, 
Loving  bonds  but  bind  and  bar  it 

From  a  higher,  holier  soaring  ; 
Now  upon  God's  altar  lay  it : 
Canst  thou  trust  Him?     Will  He  slay  it? 

He  may  prove  thee  by  restoring. 

Love,  His  love,  doth  mark  thy  going, 
With  compassion  overflowing ; 

Hark  !  He  whispers,  "  I  am  with  thee, 
I  upheld  thy  first  faint  struggle  ; 
Child,  I  will  reward  thee  double, 

And  thy  treasure  back  will  give  thee." 

Lay  it  down !     Beyond  the  river 
Thou  shalt  praise  anew  the  Giver, 

Through  a  life  of  endless  glory 
Trace  the  path  by  which  He  brought  thee, 
Sing  the  melodies  He  taught  thee, 

Tell  to  angel-host  thy  story. 

Faint  thy  whispered  love  is  spoken; 
Ah,  thy  words  sound  cold  and  broken 
Unto  hearts  less  fond  and  fervent. 


62  GOD'S  MESSENGER. 

Christ  hath  caught  the  sob  that  mourned  it, 
And  His  smile  to  prayer  hath  turned  it, 
While  He  saith,  "  My  faithful  servant!  " 

Lay  it  down  !     Ah,  thou  hast  laid  it ; 
Richly  hath  thy  love  arrayed  it ! 

Yet  'twill  fairer  be,  and  never 
Shall  the  dust  becloud  its  sweetness ; 
But,  transformed  to  heavenly  meetness, 

Thou  mayst  call  it  thine  for  ever. 


GOD'S   MESSENGER. 
"  Who  hath  ears  to  hear,  let  him  hear."  — Matt.  xiii.  9 

I  gazed  around  my  lonely  room, 

Then  on  the  city's  street, 
Where,  one  by  one,  accustomed  sounds 

Died  in  the  noontide  heat. 
The  whitened  pavement  burned  beneath 

The  sultry  summer  sky, 
And,  from  the  view  within  —  without, 

My  heart  turned  wearily. 

The  holy  page  upon  my  knee 

Was  silent,  and  I  sighed  : 
I  seemed  within  a  prison  cage, 

Freedom  and  flight  denied. 


GOD'S  MESSENGER  03 

Earthward  I  gazed,  and  missed  the  Hand 

Whose  faithful  love  had  shown 
Its  tenderness  in  leading  on 

By  paths  I  had  not  known. 

Dulled  was  the  faith  that  once  descried, 

When  all  was  dark  below, 
'Twas  fair  above  ;  but  never  yet 

Had  life  seemed  drear  as  now. 
0  Lord,  how  oft  I  disbelieved 

Thy  ever-watchful  care ! 
Yet  what  on  earth  were  left  for  me, 

If  Thou  hadst  failed  me  there  ? 


The  Tempter  came,  with  wandering  thoughts 

In  wily  guise  arrayed  : 
I  pined  for  other,  fairer  paths, 

Than  heavenly  wisdom  made ; 
For  strength  to  nerve  my  helpless  hand, 

My  feeble  frame  to  brace; 
For  wider  spheres  of  usefulness, 

And  richer  gifts  of  grace  : 


Nor  rested  there.     The  Evil  One 

Sought  every  sense  to  please, 
Imaged  the  woodlands  green,  and  brought 

The  happy  hum  of  bees  : 


64  GOD'S  MESSENGER. 

The  river  seemed  to  flow  along 

The  flowery  bank  I  trod, 
And  every  sigh  for  things  of  time 

Withdrew  my  heart  from  God. 

No  vision  of  my  Father's  house 

Upon  the  shadows  stole ; 
Earth,  with  its  pictured  beauty,  held 

Captive  my  willing  soul. 
"Oh,  for  the  bird's  free  wing,"  I  sighed, 

"And  those  fair  fields  of  ours  !  " 
Hark !  from  the  street  a  low  voice  cries, 

"  Buy  Everlasting  Flowers  !  " 

As  sunbeams  in  the  Lapland  sky 

Disperse  the  nights  of  gloom, 
A  strange  sweet  gladness  echoed  in 

That  solitary  room. 
Sweeter  than  singing  bird  or  bee, 

Amid  earth's  fading  bowers, 
Awoke  the  echo  in  my  heart, 

"  Sweet  Everlasting  Flowers  !  " 


"  Buy,  buy !  "  and  as  it  rose  again, 
The  stranger's  plaintive  cry, 

Another  voice  seemed  whispering, 
"The  wine  and  milk  come  buy : 


GOD'S  MESSENGER.  65 

Come  without  money,  without  price, 

The  peerless  boon  secure ; 
With  pastures  green,  and  flowing  streams, 

And  raiment  white  and  pure. 

"Why  waste  thy  thought  on  fleeting  joys  ? 

Why  droops  thy  heavenly  wing  ? 
Let  birds  and  foxes  make  their  homes 

Where  all  is  perishing  : 
But  look  to  thine  inheritance, 

Fear  not  these  days  of  gloom ; 
The  thorns  that  wound  thee  sore  to-day 

With  fadeless  fruit  shall  bloom. 


"  An  everlasting  rest  is  thine, 

With  everlasting  love ; 
Safe  in  thy  Father's  house,  thy  foot 

No  chance  or  change  can  move. 
With  Christ  dwells  everlasting  joy 

In  Heaven's  perennial  bowers ; 
Then  wait  and  weave  a  glory  wreath 

Of  '  Everlasting  Flowers.'  " 


I  saw  no  more  the  sultry  street, 
Nor  heard  the  city's  din ; 

No  echo  of  the  hurrying  feet 
Awoke  sad  thoughts  within. 


— . 


66  GOD'S  MESSENGER 

To  the  bright  haven  of  the  blest, 
Whore  broods  no  fear  nor  pain, 

The  Shepherd  in  His  sheltering  arms 
Brought  back  His  own  again. 


All  things  are  His,  and  all  obey 

His  wonder-working  will ; 
E'en  common  things  have  life  and  speech, 

And  His  commands  fulfil. 
From  buried  seeds,  awhile  entombed 

In  these  dead  souls  of  ours, 
The  sun  and  storm  shall  cherish  buds 

Of  fair,  immortal  flowers. 


Oh,  let  me  learn  the  lesson,  Lord, 

And  live  it  and  be  true, 
Waiting  in  patience  at  Thy  feet 

Thy  holy  will  to  do. 
Kesting  in  Thee  confidingly, 

Trusting  in  Thee  always, 
And  finding  every  hour  unfold 

Some  secret  cause  for  praise. 


THE  DOOR  OF  THE  SEPULCHRE.  67 


THE   DOOR   OF   THE   SEPULCHRE. 

Blessed  is  the  people  that  know  the  joyful  sound  :  they  shall  walk, 
0  Lord,  in  the  light  of  Thy  countenance."  —  Ps.  lxxxix.  15. 

Beyond  the  stars  that  shine  in  silvery  glory, 

Beyond  the  calm,  sweet  moon, 
Up  the  bright  ladder  saints  have  trod  before  thee, 

Soul !  thou  shalt  venture  soon. 

Secure  with  Him  who  sees  thy  heart-sick  yearning, 

Safe  in  His  arms  of  love, 
Thou  shalt  exchange  thy  midnight  for  the  morning, 

And  thy  fair  home  above. 

Oh,  it  is  sweet  to  watch  the  world's  night  wearing, 

The  Sabbath  morn  steal  on ; 
Sweeter  it  were  the  vineyard  labor  sharing, 

Sweetest — the  labor  done. 

All  finished,  all !   the  conflict  and  the  sorrow; 

Earth's  anguished  dream  is  o'er  : 
Deathless  there  dawns  for  thee  a  nightless  morrow 

Upon  a  stormless  shore. 

Patience,  then  !  patience  !     Soon  the  pang  of  dying 

Shall  all  forgotten  be ; 
And  thou,  through  rolling  spheres  rejoicing,  flying 

Beyond  the  waveless  sea, 


68  THE  DOOR  OF  THE  SEPULCHRE. 

Shalt  see  that  way  where  now  thy  Lord  doth  lead  thee; 

His  darkest  dealings  trace  ; 
And  by  those  fountains  where  His  love  will  feed  thee, 

Behold  Him  face  to  face. 

Then  bow  thy  head ;  and  God  shall  give  thee  meekness 

Bravely  to  do  His  will : 
So  shall  arise  His  glory  in  thy  weakness. 

0  struggling  soul,  be  still ! 

Dark  clouds  are  His  pavilion,  shining  o'er  thee; 

Thy  heart  must  recognize 
The  veiled  Shekinah  moving;  on  before  thee, 

Too  bright  to  meet  thine  eyes. 

Behold  the  wheel  that  straightly  moves,  and  fleetly 

Performs  the  sovereign  word. 
Thou  know'st  His  suffering  love:  then,  suffering  meetly, 

Follow  thy  loving  Lord. 

Watch  on  the  tower,  and  listen  by  the  gateway : 

Fear  not  to  wait  alone. 
Take  thou  thy  spices,  and  some  angel  straightway 

Shall  roll  away  the  stone. 

Go  to  thy  brethren  :  say  thy  Lord  hath  risen, 

And  risen  but  to  save ; 
Toll  of  the  might  that  breaks  the  captive's  prison, 

Of  life  beyond  the  grave. 


THE  EXCEEDING   GOOD   LAND.  G9 

Tell  how  He  met  thee,  all  His  radiance  shrouded ; 

How  in  thy  sorrow  came 
His  pitying  voice,  breathing,  when  faith  was  clouded, 

Thine  own  familiar  name. 

So  at  the  grave's  dark  portal  thou  mayst  linger, 

And  hymn  thy  happy  strain  : 
The  passing  world  may  mock  the  feeble  singer ; 

Heed  not,  but  sing  again. 

Thus  wait,  thus  watch,  till  He  the  last  link  sever : 

And  soon  that  day  shall  be, 
"When  in  His  beauty  thou  shalt  bask  for  ever, 

For  Christ  hath  made  thee  free ! 


THE   EXCEEDING  GOOD   LAND. 

"Give  me  a  blessing  ;  for  thou  hast  given  me  a  south  land:  give 
me  also  springs  of  water."  —  Judges  i.  15. 

"The  Lord,  He  it  is  that  doth  go  before  thee;  He  will  be  with 
thee,  He  will  not  fail  thee,  neither  forsake  thee :  fear  not,  neither  be 
dismayed."  —  Deut.  xxxi.  8. 

"  The  Lord  your  God  hath  given  you  rest,  and  hath  given  you 
this  land."  —  Joshua  i.  13. 

Lord,  bring  me  to  that  good  land, 
The  land  of  brooks  of  water, 
Of  fountains  in  the  valley 
That  each  rill  and  river  fills  ; 


70                   THE  EXCEEDING   GOOD  LAND. 

A  land  of  wheat  and  barley, 

The  vine  tree  and  the  olive, 

Where  the  precious  ore  lies  hidden 

In  the  everlasting  hills. 

My  heart  looked  onward,  pleading, 

"  Give  me  the  land  of  promise  ! 

And  with  Thy  smile,  my  Father, 

I  shall  not  know  a  fear. 

Oh,  lead  me  to  that  good  land, 

The  land  of  living  waters  ! 

For  I  know  my  heavenly  Father 

Will  His  child's  petition  hear." 

I  looked  for  Him  to  guide  me 

To  Hermon's  dewy  mountain ; 

But  I  found  me  in  a  valley 

I  ne'er  had  seen  before. 

And,  lost  in  wild  amazement, 

My  troubled  spirit  questioned  : 

"  Where  shall  I  find  that  good  land  ? 

I  thought  my  search  was  o'er." 

A  tempest  rose  around  me, 

While  wondering  and  dejected, 

And  mocking  sounds  of  laughter 

Broke  o'er  my  gloomy  path. 

THE  EXCEEDING   GOOD  LAX  P.  71 

A  whisper  floated  by  me, 
"  Behold,  he  walks  in  darkness ! 
A  murmurer  who  wanders 
Beneath  deserved  wrath." 


I  said,  "  0  heart,  take  courage! 
Christ  met  thy  worst  deservings ; 
Why  dost  thou  fret  and  murmur  ? 

Thine  enemy  is  fled. 
Rise  up  !  be  strong,  be  faithful, 
Thy  Father  watches  o'er  thee. 
The  sky  has  changed;  but  wherefore 

Art  thou  thyself  so  sad?  " 

Cried  my  Accuser,  "  Rebel 
Against  such  grace  and  mercy ! 
Wert  thou  a  child  of  heaven, 

Now  would  thy  help  appear : 
Cease  then  to  cry,  '  My  Father.'  " 
And  the  wild  rocks  round  me  echoed, 
'Mid  the  roaring  of  the  torrent, 

"  Thy  Father  will  not  hear." 


I  looked  into  the  darkness, 
Then  upward  to  the  mountain ; 
I  knew  the  fiend's  false  whisper, 
In  the  silence  drear  and  chill : 


THE  EXCEEDING   GOOD  LAND. 


And  I  said,  "  I  cannot  trace  Him 
Who  leads  me  through  the  valley  ; 
But  He  hath  never  failed  me, 
And  I  will  trust  Him  still. 


"  Fair  are  the  plains  of  Canaan  : 
Welcome,  thou  smiling  summer, 
When  the  fruitful  vine  and  olive 

Their  blooming  burdens  bear. 
I  asked  Him  for  that  good  land, 
The  land  of  brooks  of  water ; 
I  seek  the  land  of  promise, 

And  He  will  lead  me  there. 


"  But,  Lord,  Thou  know'st  Thy  servant ; 
My  heart  hath  sorely  wandered  : 
The  pure  eyes  of  the  Holiest 

Have  searched  me  within ; 
But  my  record  is  in  heaven, 
Where  my  God  eternal  reigneth, 
And  the  blood,  the  blood  of  Jesus, 

Hath  cleansed  me  from  all  sin. 


"  Whose  hand  but  Thine,  my  Father, 
Could  guide  me  through  the  desert  ? 
I  have  praised  Thee  for  the  morning, 
Let  me  praise  Thee  for  the  night. 


THE  EXCEEDING    GOOD   LAND  73 

Though  all  hath  changed  around  me, 
Thou  art  the  same  for  ever ; 
And  though  my  way  is  lonely, 
I  know  that  it  is  right." 

Light  broke  above  the  mountain, 
I  saw  my  faithful  Shepherd: 
He  walked  the  path  before  me, 

My  gloomy  fears  were  fled. 
His  smile  of  sweet  assurance 
Left  my  heart  again  rejoicing ; 
He  drew  me  to  His  bosom, 

And  tenderly  He  said, 

"  When  did  I  e'er  forsake  thee, 
Or  fail  thee  in  thy  sorrow  ? 
0  child,  so  long  time  with  Me, 

And  yet  thou  know'st  Me  not ! 
When  have  I  e'er  misled  thee  ? 
Or,  deaf  to  thy  petition, 
Have  left  thee  still  to  wander, 

Unpitied  or  forgot? 

"  Didst  thou  not  ask  the  good  land, 
The  land  of  brooks  of  water  ? 
The  pleasant  land  of  promise 
Thy  dull  eyes  cannot  see. 


74        THE  EXCEEDING    GOOD  LAND. 

Behold  Me  in  this  valley  ! 
Here  I  have  safely  led  thee : 
Dwell  in  the  land  of  promise 
Thy  Father  gives  to  thee. 

"  Fear  not !  I  will  not  leave  thee ; 
God's  truth  abideth  ever  : 
His  peace  and  rest  remaineth, 

His  promise  shineth  clear. 
Trust  in  the  Lord  Jehovah, 
Thy  Rock,  though  all  else  perish; 
And,  though  the  darkness  hide  Him, 

The  Lord  thy  God  is  near." 

Jesus  !  Thou  art  my  portion, 
My  Land  of  Living  Waters, 
My  Fountain  in  the  valley, 

My  Olive  Tree  and  Vine  ; 
Thou  art  my  Bread  from  Heaven ; 
Thou  art  my  Land  of  Promise  : 
I  bless  Thee  for  Thy  fulness ! 

And  all  Thou  art  is  mine. 


Lead  on ;  for  now  I  know  Thee  ! 
Speak  Thou,  my  blessed  Shepherd  ! 
For  in  this  vale  of  shadows 
I  lean  upon  Thy  breast. 


THE  HEAVENLY  FRIEND. 


I  asked  Thee  for  the  good  land, 
The  land  of  brooks  of  water ; 
I  find  it  in  Thy  presence, 
My  Everlasting  Best. 


THE    HEAVENLY   FRIEND. 

I  have  a  Friend  !  a  precious  Friend,  unchanging, 

wise,  and  true, 
The  chief  among  ten  thousand  !    oh,  I  wish  you 

knew  Him.  too ! 
Encompassed  by  a  host  of  foes,  weary  in  heart  and 

limb, 
I  know  who  waits  to  soothe  my  woe :  have  you  a 

Friend  like  Him  ? 
He  comforts  me,  He  strengthens  me ;  how  can  I 

then  repine? 
He  loveth  me  !     This  faithful  Friend  in  life  and 

death  is  mine. 

I  have  a  Father  true  and  fond  !     He  cares  for  all 

my  needs ; 
His  patience  bore  my  faithless  ways,  my  mad  and 

foolish  deeds ; 
To  me  He  sends  sweet  messages ;  He  waiteth  but 

to  bless : 


76  THE  HEAVENLY  FRIEND. 

Have  you  a  Father  like  to  mine,  with  such  deep 

tenderness  ? 
For  me  a  kingdom  doth  He  keep,  for  me  a  crown 

is  won  ; 
I  was  a  rebel  once.     He  calls  the  rebel  child  His 

son. 

I  have  a  proved  unerring  Guide !  whose  love  I  often 

grieve, 
He  brings  me  golden  promises  my  heart  can  scarce 

receive ; 
He  leadeth  me,  and  hope  and  cheer  doth  for  my 

path  provide, 
For  dreary  nights  and  days  of  drought :  have  you 

so  sure  a  Guide  ? 
Quench  not  the  faintest  whisper  that  the  heavenly 

Dove  may  bring, 
He  seeks  with  holy  love  to   lure  the  wanderer 

'neath  His  wing. 

I  have  a  Home !  a  home  so  bright,  its  beauties  none 

can  know ; 
Its  sapphire  pavements,  and   such   palms  —  none 

ever  saw  below ; 
Its  golden  streets  resound  with  joy,  its  pearly  gates 

with  praise ; 
A  temple  standeth  in  the  midst  no  human  hands 

could  raise ; 


THE  HEAVENLY  FRIEND.  77 

And  there  unfailing  fountains  flow,  and  pleasures 
never  end. 

Who  makes  that  home  so  glorious  ?  It  is  my  lov- 
ing Friend. 

My  Friend,  my  Father,  and  my  Guide,  and  this 

our  radiant  home, 
Are  offered  you.     Turn  not  away  !  to-day,  I  pray 

you,  "  Come." 
My  Father  yearns  to  welcome  you,  His  Heart,  His 

house,  to  share; 
My  Friend  is  yours,  my  home  is  yours ;  my  Guide 

will  lead  you  there  : 
Behold  One  altogether  fair,  the  Faithful  and  the 

True ! 
He  pleadeth  with  you  for  your  love,  He  gave  His 

life  for  you. 

Oh,   leave  the   worthless   things  you  seek;    they 

perish  in  a  day. 
Serve  now  the   true  and  living  God;  from  idols 

turn  away; 
Watch  for  the  Lord,  who  comes  to  reign ;  enter  the 

open  door ; 
Give  Him  thy  heart,  thy  broken  heart :  thou'lt  ask 

it  back  no  more. 
Trust  Him  for  grace,  and  strength,  and  love,  and 

all  thy  troubles  end : 
Oh,  come  to  Jesus  !  and  behold  in  Him  my  loving 

Friend. 


78  THE  PEARL-DIVER. 


THE    PEARL-DIVER. 

"  I  know  the  thoughts  that  I  think  toward  you,  saith  the  Lord 

thoughts  of  peace,  and  not  of  evil."  —  Jeremiah  xxix.  11. 
"  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee." — 

Isaiah  xliii.  2. 

Down  'neath  the  wave  the  venturous  diver  sinks, 

And  while  the  eddying  currents  round  him  whirl, 
Air  from  the  crystal  heavens  he  panting  drinks, 

And  risks  his  being  for  a  precious  pearl.    • 
Eager  and  breathless,  as  each  rough- cast  shell 

Gives  up  its  treasure,  none  on  earth  may  know 
What  his  pale  cheek  to  loving  hearts  may  tell, 

What  visions  of  the  wild  deep  come  and  go  ! 
Enough  for  him  a  costly  pearl  is  won  — 
The  king  has  smiled  on  him  —  the  gloom  is  gone  ! 

Long  days  have  passed,  and  fled  the  last  dark  night ; 

And  in  a  crown,  in  fairest  lustre  glow, 
What  once  unlovely  caskets  hid  from  sight, 

Pearls  for  a  diadem  —  a  goodly  row  : 
Pvesplendent  jewels  of  each  brilliant  hue, 

And  fashioned  by  the  Master's  hand,  are  there. 
One  knows  where  each  bright  gem  in  darkness  grew- 

The  slimy  serpent's  trail,  the  scorpion's  lair : 
He  knows  the  diver's  way,  and  He  alone. 
He  sees  thy  way.     Be  brave,  my  friend,  press  on  ! 


THE  PEARL-DIVER.  79 

And  such  thy  prize,  pearl-seeker!     Though  the  light, 

Upon  thine  head  once  shining,  is  withdrawn, 
Though  the  dark  shadows  gather  on  thy  sight; 

The  midnight  is  the  herald  of  the  morn. 
God  led  thee  here,  to  trust,  and  hope,  and  learn, 

Among  the  mists  of  earth :  it  must  be  so  : 
His  hand  in  all  thy  wanderings  to  discern, 

To  testify  of  that  which  thou  dost  know. 
When  hath  He  left  His  tempted  ones  alone  ? 
Veiled  in  the  cloud  behold  Him !    Friend,  press  on  ! 

Ah  !  what  avails  the  fleeting  happiness 

Bestowed  by  human  heart,  so  dull  to  see 
Its  fondest  love  is  foolishness  to  bless  ? 

And  none  had  chosen  thy  dark  path  for  thee : 
None  but  the  God-man,  who  Himself  hath  trod 

The  way  He  leads  thee,  can  thy  portion  choose. 
No  heart  can  shelter,  save  the  heart  of  God, 

That  thou  no  ray  of  glory  hence  may  lose. 
A  little  while  —  and  then  His  sweet  "  Well  done !  " 
Awaits  thee.     Watch,  and  hope,  and  still  press  on. 

Thy  God  smiles  on  thee !     Though  we  cannot  raise 
Our  summer  songs  as  when  our  day  shone  bright, 

He  counts  submissive  sighs  as  sweet  as  praise. 
Our  morning's  His;  His,  too,  the  darkest  night: 

Sure  that,  'mid  all,  He  keeps  thy  name  engraved 
Deep  on  His  loving  heart.     Soon  shalt  thou  own 


80  THE  PEARL-DIVER. 

That  all  thy  wandering  way  with  love  was  paved, 

Through  the  dark  waters  to  the  great  white  throne. 
Count  up  the  stars  that  on  thy  midnight  shone, 
And  bless  His  hand  in  all.     O  friend,  press  on  ! 

The  angel  of  His  presence  is  with  thee, 

And  wondrous  things  thou  canst  not  now  divine 
Are  born  from  these  lone  watches.     Shall  not  He 

Gather  His  myrrh-dew  with  His  spice  and  wine? 
He  does  not  call  for  songs  in  winter  time 

From  frozen  waters,  waveless  at  His  word, 
Nor  ask  for  flowers  in  a  sunless  clime, 

Nor  lordly  pseans  from  the  unstrung  chord. 
Thou  dost  remember  Him,  though  joy  hath  flown. 
Better  than  wine  His  love.     Be  brave — press  on  ! 

There  was  an  hour  —  all  storm-cloud,  and  no  cheer  — 

When  from  Gethsemane's  dark  grove  was  heard 
The  supplicating  cry ;  ere,  drawing  near, 

An  an^el  strengthened  his  suffering  Lord. 
No  angel  comes  to  thee  :  but  He  who  kept 

That  vigil,  with  His  heart-blood  measuring  forth 
The  depth  of  untold  anguish,  while  there  slept 

Close  by  His  side  the  dearest  friends  of  earth ; 
His  arm  encircles  thee.     Trust  Him  alone  : 
The  dawn  is  breaking  —  falter  not,  press  on  ! 


THE  -PLACE  FOR  GOLD  WHERE  THEY  FLNE  IT."       81 


THE   "PLACE   FOR   GOLD   WHERE   THEY 
FINE   IT." 

Job  xxviii.  1. 

"  The  very  God  of  peace  sanctify  you  wholly ;  and  I  pray  God 
your  whole  spirit  and  soul  and  body  be  preserved  blameless  unto  the 
coming  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Faithful  is  He  that  calleth  you, 
who  also  will  do  it."  — 1  Thess.  v.  23,  24. 

Lord,  I  would  be  nigh  Thee, 

Looking  in  Thy  face, 
Listening  for  Thy  whisper, 

Feeling  Thine  embrace. 
From  all  other  refuge 

To  Thine  arms  I  flee ; 
Body,  soul,  and  spirit, 

Consecrate  to  Thee. 


Lord,  I  would  be  like  Thee ; 

I  would  walk  in  white, 
Choose  the  thing  Thou  lovest, 

Serving  in  Thy  sight. 
Blood  is  on  the  altar, 

Incense  mounts  for  me; 
Body,  soul,  and  spirit, 

Consecrate  to  Thee. 


82        THE  "PLACE  FOR  GOLD  WHERE  THEY  FINE  IT." 

"  Wouldst  thou  follow  Me,  child  ? 

Mark  the  way  I  came  : 
Thou  must  meet  the  mocking, 

Wilt  thou  share  the  shame  ? 
Canst  thou  bear  rejection, 

When  thou  long'st  to  bless ; 
For  thy  true  affection 

Only  loved  the  less  ?  " 


Lord,  it  little  moves  me 

Where  my  steps  must  tread, 
With  the  sweet  assurance, 

"  Christ  this  way  hath  led." 
If  through  tribulation 

This  alone  can  be, 
Body,  soul,  and  spirit, 

Consecrate  to  Thee. 


"  Wouldst  thou  walk  beside  Me  ? 

Thou  My  voice  must  learn ; 
Thou  must  trust  My  silence, 

And  My  will  discern ; 
Lose  thy  life  in  living, 

Nor  bewail  it  lost. 
For  thy  soul's  desire 

Dost  thou  count  the  cost  ?  " 


THE  "PLACE  FOR  GOLD  WHERE  THEY  FIXE  IT."       83 

Jesus !  Lord !  Jehovah  ! 

I  would  onward  press  ; 
Every  woe  will  whisper 

Of  Thy  faithfulness. 
From  each  snare  beguiling 

Thou  wilt  set  me  free ; 
Body,  soul,  and  spirit, 

Consecrate  to  Thee. 


"  Come,  the  way  is  opened, 

Thou  mayst  walk  in  white : 
Gird  thy  priestly  garments ; 

For  that  path  of  light 
Vulture's  eye  ne'er  searcheth, 

ISTor  hath  wild  beast  trod  ; 
But  the  ransomed  enter 

Through  the  cleansing  blood. 


"  Canst  thou  die  to  self,  child  ? 

Canst  thou  take  My  cup  ?  " 
Lord,  Thy  grace  sufficeth, 

Thou  didst  drink  it  up. 
Wrath  no  more  can  mingle 

In  that  draught  for  me ; 
Now,  the  life  thus  purchased 

Consecrate  to  Thee. 


84  THE  DYING    THIEF. 

"  Take  thy  cross  up  daily, 

Seek  the  path  I  trod, 
Nearer  than  a  brother 

To  the  living  God. 
For  a  little  season 

Fierce  thy  foes  may  be; 
Go  in  this  thy  power, 

Fellowship  with  Me." 


THE   DYING   THIEF. 

"  Behold  the  Man  !  "  —  John  xix.  5. 

The  day  is  past  for  me, 
And  nothing  I  have  done ; 

I  might  have  served  a  lifetime  here, 
But  now  the  light  is  gone, 

And  night  is  drawing  near. 

I  might  have  led  some  heart 
The  path  I  have  despised, 

I  might  have  told  the  love  of  One 
"Whom  I  so  little  prized; 

But  now  the  time  is  gone. 

Past  is  the  day  of  grace : 

I  spurned  the  priceless  blood, 

And  long  have  trampled  recklessly 
Upon  the  gift  of  God ; 

And  now  I  come  to  die. 


THE  DYING   THIEF.  85 

Yet  I  have  known  the  price 

My  careless  soul  has  cost; 
But  this  false  world  has  wooed  me  well, 

And  I  have  loved  and  lost; 
For  I  believe  in  hell. 

Here  at  the  grave's  dark  mouth, 

Of  every  help  bereft, 
I  long  in  vain  for  one  lost  day ; 

And  but  one  hour  is  left, 
And  life  ebbs  fast  away. 

I  might  have  lived  for  Christ, 

Who  gave  His  life  for  me ; 
I  might  have  been  His  witness  here, 

But  now  this  cannot  be ; 

I  shrink,  I  faint  with  fear. 

Lord,  is  there  no  hope  for  me  ? 

When  thou  wast  crucified, 
Thou  heardst  the  malefactor's  cry 

Ascending  by  Thy  side. 

Wilt  Thou  my  prayer  deny? 

Lord,  I  am  that  vile  thief 

Who  robbed  Thee  every  day 
Of  glory,  honor,  praise,  and  work, 

And  nought  have  I  to  pay ; 

And  now  the  night  grows  dark. 


86  THE  DYING    THIEF. 

All !  say'st  Thou  'twas  for  such 
The  Christ  came  down  to  die : 

Then  His  salvation  I  may  see ; 
He  hears  the  sinner's  cry : 

There's  hope,  there's  hope  for  me ! 

The  vail  is  rent  indeed, 

The  spotless  Lamb  hath  bled ; 

And  I  that  sacred  Form  may  scan, 
For  all  is  finished. 

And  I  behold  the  Man  ! 

Five  wounds  !  and  crowned  with  thorns, 
Scarred  with  the  cruel  thong, 

Mocked  by  the  multitude's  rude  breath, 
The  ribald  drunkard's  song, 

To  save  my  soul  from  death. 

Saved !  saved  !     I  see  it  all ! 

My  sins  alone  I  bring; 
The  Righteous  takes  the  sinner's  place, 

God's  Sinless  Offering. 

All,  all  is  mine  —  free  grace ! 


THE  PRISONER   OF  THE  LORD.  87 

THE    PRISONER   OF   THE   LORD. 
Psalm  cxlvi.  8.     Sol.  Song  ii.  14. 

"  Many  are  reaping  the  harvest-fields, 

And  I  lie  here  alone, 
Counting  the  time  by  the  dreary  night : 

Oh,  when  will  the  day  be  gone  ? 

"  Some  lead  the  flock  to  the  mountain-height, 

And  some  to  the  dewy  lawn ; 
And  the  fishers  their  nets  from  the  silvery  tide, 

The  weight  of  their  spoil  have  drawn ; 

"  But  I  lie  here  with  my  yearning  heart, 

On  labor  I  long  to  share ; 
My  lattice  is  dark,  and  heavy  my  chain, 

And  fetters  I  still  must  wear." 

The  plaint  had  ceased  from  the  maiden's  lips, 

When  over  the  mountains  spread 
A  ray  more  bright  than  the  morning  star ; 

It  gleamed  on  a  scroll  unread. 

A  scroll  that  told  of  a  Father's  love, 
Of  His  might,  His  way,  and  His  will, 

Of  the  faithful  Friend  who  never  forsakes, 
The  Master  who  loves  her  still. 


88  THE  PRISONER   OF   THE  LORD. 

Light  fell  on  her  tears,  on  her  cheek  so  wan, 
And  now  on  her  garments  white, 

As  she  watched  the  stars  as  they  rose  and  set 
In  the  shade  of  the  deepening  night. 

A  darker  gloom  had  shadowed  her  brow 

Than  ever  was  there  before, 
When  a  cry  arose,  "  The  Master  is  come ! 

He  stands  at  the  bolted  door." 

Oh,  gentle  the  voice  of  that  midnight  Guest, 
And  tender  the  Friend  that  came 

To  open  her  lattice  and  tune  her  harp, 
And  call  His  child  by  her  name. 

"  Yea,  some  arc  afar  on  the  waters  wide, 
And  some  on  the  mountain's  height ; 

But  couldst  thou  not  watch  one  hour  with  Me 
In  the  shade  of  the  silent  night? 

"I  came  with  the  cloud  that  covered  thy  earth, 
And  thy  lips  have  ceased  to  sing ; 

I  sent  the  mist  on  thy  brain,  and  quelled 
Thy  fair  imagining. 

"  0  child  of  my  love  !  thy  chain  I  wrought, 

And  soon  shalt  thou  lay  it  by ; 
In  my  Father's  house  thou  shalt  bless  the  day 

Of  thy  brief  captivity. 


THE  PRISONER  OF  THE  LORD.  89 

"  Thy  brethren  toil  in  fields  afar, 

And  long  for  thy  harp's  sweet  tone, 
But  hidden  within  my  sanctuary, 

Thy  service  hath  well  been  done. 

"  My  wanderers  rest  'neath  the  sea-girt  rock 

To  list  to  the  minstrel's  strain, 
And  hearts  bowed  down  by  their  earthly  toil 

Take  courage  and  hope  again. 

"  But  —  give  me  thy  harp  —  'tis  all  unstrung ; 

Go  forth  to  thy  chosen  lot; 
The  Master  has  need  of  His  prison  bird, 

But  the  prisoner  heeds  Him  not ! 

"  Choose  now  what  seemeth  the  better  part, 

And  glad  may  thy  service  be ; 
But  never  so  dear  in  the  sunny  noon 

As  thy  midnight  song  to  me." 

The  fetters  fell  from  the  maiden's  hands 

As  the  midnight  Guest  drew  nigh ; 
The  threshold  is  past  —  she  standeth  free 

In  the  joy  of  liberty  ! 

One  moment  she  gazed  on  the  wounded  Hand 

That  opened  the  bolted  door ; 
Then  back  she  turned  to  her  star-lit  cell, 

And  the  chain  she  weeping  wore. 


90  THE  PRISONER   OF  THE  LORD. 

The  prison  was  changed  to  a  banquet-hall 
(And  the  banner  that  waved  was  "  Love  ") ; 

'Twas  paved  with  the  mercies  of  bygone  years, 
Ere  her  foolish  heart  could  rove. 

Like  diamonds  sparkled  her  fetters  then, 

As  silk  was  her  iron  chain ; 
She  kissed  each  link  with  its  chiselled  gem, 

And  welcomed  them  back  again. 

"  How  sweet  is  the  bondage  !  "  the  maiden  cried, 

To  the  fetters  of  old  restored ; 
"  I  am  not  alone  in  my  midnight  watch: 

My  Keeper  is  Christ  my  Lord !  " 


Her  harp  is  tuned  by  the  Master's  hand, 
For  His  prisoner's  songs  below ; 

And  sweeter  the  lesson  of  Jesus'  love 
Than  ever  the  freed  can  know. 


THE  REST-BELL.  91 


THE   REST-BELL. 

"  "We  shall  not  all  sleep,  but  we  shall  all  be  changed."  — i  Cor.  xv.  51. 

"  Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  His  beauty  :  they  shall  behold 

the  land  that  is  very  far  off."  —  Isaiah  xxxiii.  17. 

[In  many  parts  of  Switzerland,  particularly  in  Savoy,  a  bell  from 
the  principal  tower  calls  the  people  to  rest  at  noon.  Five  minutes 
before  the  hour  strikes,  the  welcome  rest-bell  sounds  sweetly  on  the 
ear.  The  laborer  in  the  harvest-field  throws  down  his  sickle.  The 
song  and  jest  cease  in  the  vineyard ;  and  soon  beneath  the  shadow 
of  the  chestnut  and  maple,  you  learn  that  the  sleep  of  the  laboring 
man  is  sweet.  It  was  in  one  of  these  golden  harvest-days,  as  I  lis- 
tened to  the  bell  swelling  over  the  smiling  plains  of  Savoy,  that  a 
beloved  friend  fell  asleep  in  Jesus — to  use  her  own  words,  she  had 
been  called  to  rest  by  a  message  from  the  Throne.] 

Hark  !  I  hear  the  Kest-Bell  ringing ! 

To  my  ear  it  seems  to  be 
Thy  dear  voice,  my  Heavenly  Master : 

"  Come  apart,  and  rest  with  Me  !  " 

They  who  bear  the  heat  and  burden 

Know  the  daily  summons  well ; 
O'er  the  woodland  vale  and  mountain 

Sweetly  sounds  the  noontide  bell. 

Now,  their  toil  and  travail  leaving, 

Many  a  weary  head  is  laid 
'Neath  the  vineyard's  leafy  bower, 

Or  the  chestnut's  sheltering  shade. 


92  THE  BEST-BELL. 


Busy  hands  are  idly  folded, 

Slumber  seems  to  seal  each  breath, 

And  the  laborer's  song  is  silent  — 
(Sleep  !  thou  art  akin  to  death.) 

They  will  wait,  and  rest,  and  waken, 
Where  each  listless  form  hath  lain : 

When  the  Master's  voice  arouse  them, 
They  will  hear  and  rise  again. 

Myriad  host  of  unseen  watchers 
O'er  their  rest  a  guard  shall  keep, 

Lest  the  enemy  assail  them 
In  their  deep  and  quiet  sleep. 

All  along  life's  desert  journey, 
Marked  by  mingled  joy  and  woe, 

Softly  as  the  summer  lightning 
Holy  angels  come  and  go. 

Gently  guiding  wandering  children 

To  their  own  appointed  place ; 
Watching  where  the  dust  lies  sleeping 

Of  each  cherished  heir  of  grace. 

There  the  toil-worn  garments  folded, 

Till  they  roll  away  the  stone, 
And  the  shout  proclaims  for  ever 

Christ's  blessed  message  from  the  Throne. 


THE  REST-BELL.  93 


In  the  heat  of  noontide  labor 
Come  apart  and  rest  with  Him ; 

Sinking  heart,  renew  thy  courage, 
And  repose  the  weary  limb. 

Share  with  Him  your  joys  and  sorrows, 
All  your  fears,  or  labor  vain ; 

Sin  hath  soiled  the  trailing  garment, 
Let  Him  gird  you  once  again. 

Lay  your  inmost  thoughts  before  Him, 
As  your  faithless  fears  arise, 

Besting  'neath  the  pleasant  shadow 
Of  the  tree  of  Paradise. 

Ah,  than  noontide  bell  more  welcome, 
Is  the  Master's  tender  smile, 

And  His  voice  o'er  Bether's  mountains : 
"  Come  apart,  and  rest  awhile." 

Through  the  listless  days  of  sickness, 
Praise  oft  broken  by  the  moan, 

Loving  hearts  have  learned  to  listen 
For  a  message  from  the  Throne. 


Lo !  one  stands  by  death's  dark  portal 
All  alone  !     Nay,  not  "  alone," 

For  the  Friend  whose  arm  upholds  her 
Is  the  True  and  Faithful  One. 


94  MARAH. 


Not  a  sound  disturbs  the  silence ; 

None  beside  hath  heard  the  words, 
Or  the  listening  soul's  responses, 

Echoing  from  its  thrilling  chords. 

God  is  true,  who  gave  the  promise ; 

God,  who  ne'er  forsakes  his  own, 
Sendeth  to  her  waiting  spirit 

Love's  last  message  from  the  Throne. 

Angel  cohorts  fence  the  valley, 
As  upon  their  charge  they  wait  ; 

Hush  their  songs  to  hear  her  praises 
Floating  through  the  pearly  gate. 

Hark  !  the  Rest-Bell  sweet  and  solemn  : 
"  Now  thy  noontide  work  is  done; 

Come  and  rest  with  Me  for  ever !  "  — 
Christ's  last  message  from  the  Throne. 


MARAH. 

Exodus  xv.  25.     Isaiah  xiii.  12. 

The  bitter  stream  of  Marah, — 
How  did  I  quail  and  shrink, 

As,  thirsting  in  the  desert, 
I  trembling  stooped  to  drink ! 


MAR  AH.  95 


I  murmured,  M  Why  this  Marah 
On  my  love-path  to-day?" 

No  answer  but  the  roaring 
Of  the  wild  wave  on  its  way. 

Thirsty,  footsore,  and  weary, 

Did  He  not  hear  my  cry  ?  — 
The  mighty  God  of  Jacob, 

Who  triumphed  gloriously ; 
Whose  praises  fill  the  echoes, 

Whose  mighty  deeds  are  told 
In  each  day's  march  of  mercy, 

As  wondrous  as  of  old. 

Three  days,  —  yet  all  was  silence, 
And  glittering  sand  and  drought; 


Three  days  I  watched  and  waited, 


And  living  waters  sought ; 
Three  days,  —  but  all  was  desert, 

And  sharp  the  burning  blast, 
Like  a  furnace  breath  swept  o'er  me  :  — 

Deliverance  came  at  last. 

Behold,  and  lo  !  beside  me 

I  marked  a  fair  tree  lie, 
Marred  by  fierce  hands  that  held  it 

So  rude  and  ruthlessly. 


96                                          MARAH. 

I  cast  it  in  the  waters, 

And  the  stream  flowed  softly  on ; 

I  drank  that  day  of  Marah,  — 

Its  bitterness  was  gone. 

That  tender  plant,  rejected, 

Hidden  from  sight,  had  lain, 

Until  from  earth's  dark  chamber 

It  rose  to  life  again. 

Three  days,  —  and  then  it  blossomed, 

And  wondrous  fruit  it  bore; 

Its  leaves  are  leaves  of  healing, 

And  will  be  evermore. 

And  now  I  stand  by  Marah, 

Where  once  I  shrank  and  feared; 

Even  those  bitter  waters 

His  tenderness  endeared : 

And  safe  beneath  His  shadow 

My  soul  looks  calmly  on, 
Till  the  day  breaks  on  the  mountain, 

And  the  desert  march  is  done. 


Beneath  the  B,ock  I  rest  me ; 

The  stream  is  bright  and  sweet; 
I  drink  from  its  deep  waters, 

And  lave  my  dust-stained  feet; 


THE  GOLDEN  VIAL.  97 

I  fill  my  earthen  pitcher, 

From  the  wavelets  on  the  brink : 

Is  one  athirst  and  weary  ? 
Then  let  him  come  and  drink. 


I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  Marah : 

Thy  bitter  mercies  shine 
With  the  radiance  of  Thy  glory, 

In  this  lone  march  of  mine. 
I  thank  Thee,  too,  for  Elim, 

The  palm-tree  and  the  well ; 
But  I  praise  Thee  more  for  Marah 

Than  my  stammering  tongue  can  tell. 


THE   GOLDEN  VIAL. 

Yes  !  all  are  there  !  safe  in  His  golden  vial, 

The  glistening  tears,  though  none  beheld  them  shed, 

And  days  ne'er  counted  on  the  earthly  dial 
Are  marked  in  heaven,  though  below  unread. 

The  prayer,  the  groan,  the  sigh,  all,  all  are  numbered, 
And  'mid  the  holy  things  of  God  are  sealed ; 

Yea,  the  forgotten  sorrow  that  hath  slumbered 
Shall  wake  to  bless  the  pierced  Hand  that  healed. 


Enriching  still  by  each  mysterious  trial, 

Till  bloom  and  fruit  shall  own  the  chast'ning  rod; 

While  the  tears  gathered  in  the  gold  vial 

Are  counted  precious,  treasured  up  with  God. 


THE   DAY   LABORER. 

"  In  the  morning  sow  thy  seed,  and  in  the  evening  withhold  not 
thine  hand:  for  thou  knowest  not  whether  shall  prosper,  either  this 
or  that,  or  whether  they  both  shall  be  alike  good." — Eccles.  xi.  6. 

Sow  ye  beside  all  waters, 

Where  the  dew  of  heaven  may  fall ; 
Ye  shall  reap,  if  ye  be  not  weary ; 

For  the  Spirit  breathes  o'er  all. 
Sow,  though  the  thorns  may  wound  thee; 

One  wore  the  thorns  for  thee ; 
And,  though  the  cold  world  scorn  thee, 

Patient  and  hopeful  be. 
•Sow  ye  beside  all  waters, 

With  a  blessing  and  a  prayer ; 
Name  Him  whose  hand  upholds  thee, 

And  sow  thou  everywhere. 

Sow  when  the  sunlight  sheddeth 
Its  warm  and  cheering  ray ; 


THE  DA  Y  LABORER.  99 

For  the  rain  of  heaven  descendeth 

When  the  sunbeams  pass  away. 
Sow  when  the  tempest  lowers ; 

For  calmer  days  will  break, 
And  the  seed,  in  darkness  nourished, 

A  goodly  plant  will  make. 
Sow  when  the  morning  breaketh 

In  beauty  o'er  the  land ; 
And,  when  the  evening  falleth, 

"Withhold  not  thou  thine  hand. 


Sow,  though  the  rock  repel  thee, 

In  its  cold  and  sterile  pride, 
Some  cleft  may  there  be  riven, 

Where  the  little  seed  may  hide. 
Fear  not ;  for  some  will  flourish ; 

And  though  the  tares  abound, 
Like  the  willows  by  the  waters 

Will  the  scattered  grain  be  found. 
Work  while  the  daylight  lasteth, 

Ere  the  shades  of  night  come  on ; 
Ere  the  Lord  of  the  vineyard  cometh, 

And  the  laborer's  work  is  done. 

Work  in  the  wild  waste  places, 
Though  none  thy  love  may  own ; 

God  marks  the  down  of  the  thistle 
The  wandering  wind  hath  sown. 


100  THE  DAY  LABORER. 

Will  Jesus  chide  thy  weakness, 

Or  call  thy  labor  vain  ? 
The  Word  that  for  Him  thou  bearest 

Shall  return  to  Him  as;ain. 
On  !  with  thy  heart  in  Heaven, 

Thy  strength  —  thy  Master's  might, 
Till  the  wild  waste  places  blossom 

In  the  warmth  of  a  Saviour's  lis;ht. 

Sow  by  the  wayside  gladly, 

In  the  damp  dark  caverns  low, 
Where  sunlight  never  reacheth, 

Nor  healthful  streamlets  flow  ; 
Where  the  withering  air  of  poison 

Is  the  young  bud's  earliest  breath, 
And  the  wild  unwholesome  blossom 

Bears  in  its  beauty  —  death. 
The  ground  impure,  o'ertrodden 

By  life's  disfiguring  years, 
Though  blood  and  guilt  have  stained  it, 

May  yet  be  soft  from  tears. 

Watch  not  the  clouds  above  thee ; 

Let  the  whirlwind  round  thee  sweep ; 
God  may  the  seed-time  give  thee, 

But  another's  hand  may  reap. 
Have  faith,  though  ne'er  beholding 

The  seed  burst  from  its  tomb, 


THE  PRISONER.  101 


Thou  know'st  not  which  may  prosper, 
Or  whether  all  shall  bloom. 

Room  on  the  narrowest  ridges 
The  ripening  grain  will  find, 

That  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  coming, 
In  the  harvest  sheaves  may  bind. 


THE   PRISONER. 

"  Oh  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove !  for  then  would  I  fly  away  and 
be  at  rest.  Lo,  then  would  I  wander  far  off,  and  remain  in  the  wil- 
derness." —  Psalm  lv.  6,  7. 

My  soul  forgets  the  fetters  that  she  wears, 

And  upward  soars  and  sings  : 
Like  captive  bird,  fast  tethered  to  the  stake, 

Soon  droop  her  weary  wings. 
The  blue  sky,  in  the  summer  sunshine,  seems 

Each  moment  yet  more  near ; 
Till  now  the  cord  recalls  the  bird  to  earth, 

And  dumb  he  falleth  here. 
Ay,  dumb  he  lies  !  but  deep  within  his  heart 

Still  rests  his  half-sung  hymn, 
To  swell  in  rapturous  tones  of  love  and  joy, 

When  freedom  comes  to  him. 


102  THE  CROWN  OF  THORNS. 

So  garner  up,  0  Soul !  each  glimpse  of  home, 

Vouchsafed  by  heavenly  love  : 
Soon  shall  the  silver  cord  be  loosed,  and  thou 

Shalt  wing  thy  way  above. 
Though  solitude  and  darkness  now  be  thine, 

Yet  count  on  cloudless  days, 
When  thy  glad  voice  shall  break  the  silence  deep 

With  hymns  of  glorious  praise. 
In  yon  far  home,  where  thy  free  song  shall  rise, 

The  Spoiler  entereth  not; 
There  summer  days  alone  remembered  are, 

And  sin  and  tears  forgot. 


THE  CROWN  OF   THORNS. 

"  Ye  shall  drink  indeed  of  my  cup,  and  be  baptized  with  the  bap- 
tism that  I  am  baptized  with."  —  Matt.  xx.  23. 

"  Unto  you  it  is  given  in  the  behalf  of  Christ,  not  only  to  believe 
on  Him,  but  also  to  suffer  for  His  sake.  —  Phil.  i.  29. 

Take  it  meekly,  wear  it  gladly, 

Holy  ensign  of  our  faith  ! 
Doth  the  exile  wander  sadly, 

Freed  from  danger,  and  from  death  ? 
As  his  footstep  homeward  turns, 
Little  recks  he  of  the  thorns. 


THE  CROWN  OF  THORNS.  103 

Sing  then  loudly,  ransomed  spirit, 
Let  the  captives  hear  thee  sing ; 
Thou  the  Promise  shalt  inherit, 
"Wandering  child  of  Israel's  King. 

Think  of  Him  :  then,  bending  down, 
Take  thy  cross,  and  wear  thy  crown. 


Thou  art  lonely  —  He  was  lonely ; 

Dost  thou  at  thy  lot  repine  ? 
Thou  thy  burden  bearest  only ; 

But  He  bore  His  grief —  and  thine. 

Yea,  for  thee  that  crown  was  worn, 
'Twas  thy  sin  that  wove  the  thorn. 

Priestly  pomp,  and  princely  splendor, 

Greet  not  Him  who  came  to  save. 
Doth  the  earth  her  tribute  render  ? 
All  she  gives  Him  is  a  grave  : 

Gold  nor  gem  His  brow  adorns, 
Nothing  but  a  Crown  of  Thorns. 

Hands  outstretched,  the  sinner  seeking, 

Eyes  that  wept  o'er  human  woe, 
Lips  but  love  and  pity  speaking, 
Mark  the  path  He  trod  below. 

While  His  love  the  alien  scorns, 
Child,  bless  thou  the  Crown  of  Thorns  ! 


104  THE  CROWN  OF  THORNS. 

Track  His  footsteps,  thou  shalt  borrow 

Light,  that  loneliest  life  endears ; 
Glory  gilds  the  crown  of  sorrow, 

Washed  with  blood,  and  bright  with  tears. 
Not  unseen  His  loved  ones  mourn, 
Known  to  Christ  is  every  thorn. 

Dost  thou  murmur  ?  dost  thou  wonder 
Why  this  path  He  bade  thee  tread  ? 
He  who  reigns  in  glory  yonder 
Had  not  where  to  lay  His  head. 

Though  thy  pathway  seemeth  dim, 
Yet  it  leads  to  heaven  —  and  Him. 


Sinful  soul !  with  cords  I  bound  Him, 

Till  upon  the  cross  He  died ; 
With  the  thorny  chaplet  crowned  Him, 
And  that  crown  He  sanctified. 

Welcome,  then,  the  crown  of  shame, 
Which  for  me  on  Jesus  came. 


Is  it  meet  a  homeless  stranger 

Eest  within  that  world  should  gain, 
Free  from  sorrow,  free  from  danger, 
Where  his  Lord  and  King  was  slain  ? 
Christian  pilgrim,  be  content 
With  the  desert  and  the  tent. 


THE  CROWX  OF  THORNS.  105 

Take  thy  crown,  for  Christ  hath  blessed  it; 

If  thy  weary  heart  should  fail, 
On  the  Rock  of  Ages  rest  it ; 
Gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail. 

Shrink  not,  though  the  world  may  scorn, 
Christ  hath  numbered  every  thorn. 

Take  it  gladly,  crown  of  glory ; 
Angels,  with  admiring  eyes, 
Read  redemption's  wondrous  story  : 
Now  the  conflict  —  then  the  prize. 

Follow  Him,  whose  bleeding  brow 
Gave  the  right  to  wear  it  now. 


Every  tear  the  Saviour  numbered, 
Every  woe  hath  Jesus  weighed, 
Nor  His  love  or  care  hath  slumbered 
Since  He  placed  it  on  thy  head, 
Soul,  by  tribulation  driven, 
Child  of  God,  and  heir  of  heaven. 

0  my  soul !  do  thou  surrender 
Sorrow's  chaplet  to  His  care, 
For  I  know  His  love  so  tender : 
Not  one  thorn  too  much  is  there. 
Let  each  wound  a  whisper  be, 
"  Take  thy  cross  and  follow  Me." 


106  THE  CROWN  OF  THORNS. 


Lamb  of  God,  and  Man  of  Sorrow, 

Shed  Thy  Holy  Spirit  down ; 
For  the  night  must  have  its  morrow, 
And  the  thorns  are  still  a  crown. 
If  reserved  for  only  Thine, 
Let  the  thorny  crown  be  mine. 


Lo,  I  take  it !     On  my  weakness 

Look  Thou,  Lord,  in  pity  down ; 
Let  me  learn  Thy  holy  meekness, 
Fit  me  here  to  wear  the  crown. 

Thou  wilt  leave  me  not  forlorn, 
Myrtles  shall  supplant  the  thorn. 

When  it  presses  me  the  sorest, 

When  the  bitter  cup  I  sip, 
Let  me  feel  the  crown  Thou  worest 
Gives  the  sweetest  fellowship  : 
Diademed  with  rubies  rare, 
Precious  blood-drops  sparkling  there. 

Teach  me,  Lord,  the  hands  that  wove  it 

Wove  it  not  without  Thy  will ; 
Bless  it,  Lord,  and  I  shall  love  it : 
Through  the  thorns  I  see  Thee  still. 
Thou  in  grief  art  ever  nigh ; 
I  will  wear  it  patiently. 


THE  RECOGNITION.  107 


THE   WEARY   WATCHER. 

What !  could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one  hour  ?  "  —  Matt.  xxvi.  40. 

0  loving  and  beloved,  couldst  thou  not  watch 
One  hour  with  Him  who  watched  bo  oft  for  thee : 

Some  deeper  meaning  from  His  grief  to  catch, 
And  weep  with  Him  in  drear  Gethsemane  ? 

"  Could  ye  not  watch  ?  "     0  Jesus  !  no  reproof 
Ruffled  Thy  holy  pleading  with  Thine  own, 

Thy  chosen  friends;  and  yet  they  stand  aloof — 
No  heart  to  share  Thine  agonizing  groan  ! 

1  weary  too,  while  watching,  Lord,  with  Thee ; 

How  swift  am  I  to  slumber  at  Thy  side : 
End  quickly,  Lord,  my  sad  captivity, 

That  I,  at  Thy  loved  feet,  my  shame  may  hide. 


THE   RECOGNITION. 

Their  eyes  were  opened,  and  they  knew  Him."  —  Luke  xxiv.  31. 

When  Jesus  first  upon  my  vision  stole, 
His  love  reproved  my  unbelieving  soul : 
Terror  and  joy  within  my  bosom  stirred ; 
Revealed  to  faith  —  I  grasped  the  Incarnate  Word, 

My  God  !  My  Lord 


108  THE  RECOGNITION. 

Closed  was  each  portal  to  the  world  around  — 
Sin's  shadow  dark  —  yet  He  an  entrance  found  ; 
Soft  as  the  dawn,  clear  as  morn's  golden  flood, 
Thy  light  disclosed  the  token  of  the  Blood, 

My  Lord  !  My  God  ! 

Thus  sweetly  spake  He :  "  Child !  reach  forth  thine 

hand, 
And  be  not  faithless,  but  believe."     The  band 
Of  sin  was  loosed.     "  Peace !  "     It  was  all  I  heard  ; 
By  tender  mercy  conquered,  I  adored 

My  God  !  My  Lord  ! 

His  goodness  fills  my  very  soul  with  praise; 
No  other  sound  can  prayer's  faint  pinions  raise; 
Her  glad  thanksgivings  seek  no  sweeter  chord, 
My  heart  pours  out  her  joy  in  one  blest  word,  — 

My  God!  JiyLord! 

Reject  it  not!   0  Thou,  the  Crucified  ! 
'     Thou  hast  for  me,  so  lost  and  faithless,  died; 

Thou  who  with  peace  my  way-worn  feet  hast  shod, 
Oh,  guide  me  in  the  path  that  Thou  Thyself  hast  trod, 

My  Lord  !  My  God  ! 


THE  DREAM  OF  HE  A  VEN.  109 


THE   DREAM   OF   HEAVEN. 

I  sleep  but  my  heart  waketh.     It  is  the  voice  of  my  Beloved. 
Sol.  Song  v.  2. 

Are  the  pearly  portals  open, 
I  have  yearned  to  enter  long  ? 

Is  my  dream  of  sorrow  broken, 
By  a  seraph's  joyful  song  ? 

Have  I  crossed  the  crystal  river  ? 

Shall  I  tread  the  golden  street, 
"Where  the  verdant  palm-leaves  quiver, 

To  one  holy  Name  and  sweet  ? 

"Why,  my  soul,  this  exultation  ? 

Hast  thou  passed  remotest  space  ? 
Heard  the  anthems  of  salvation? 

Seen  my  Saviour  face  to  face  ? 

Scarce  I  knew  if  sweetly  o'er  me 
Heaven  had  opened  bright  and  fair, 

Till  I  missed  the  looked-for  glory 
Of  my  Saviour's  welcome  there. 

Where  is  He  my  Life  hath  proved 
True  and  faithful  to  the  last  ? 

Where  is  He,  my  soul's  Beloved, 
He  on  whom  my  hope  is  cast? 


110  THE  LAST  NIGHT  WITH  THE  DEAD. 

'Twas  a  dream.  The  crystal  river 
Came  of  tear-drops  in  mine  eye ; 

Tears  which  shall  not  flow  for  ever. 
He  who  wept  at  Bethany 

Shed  such  solace  o'er  my  sorrow, 
Earth's  afflictions  were  forgot, 

And  I  hailed  a  joyful  morrow, 
Dawning  on  my  weary  lot. 

Now,  my  heart  within  me  burning, 
Better  than  my  dream  I  see ; 

Christ  is  near  me  in  my  mourning; 
Where  He  is,  is  heaven  to  me. 


THE  LAST  NIGHT   WITH   THE   DEAD. 

"  Jesus  saith  unto  her,  Thy  brother  shall  rise  again." 
John  xi.  23. 

Farewell,  friend,  till  the  shadows  flee  away ! 

Farewell,  my  loved  one :  it  is  sweet  to  say, 

"  Till  our  next  meeting"  ;  there  no  pain  can  come, 

Nor  partings  dim  the  glory  of  our  home. 

We'll  meet  again — where  God's  redeemed  ones  dwell, 

Where  nevermore  shall  sound  the  word,  "Farewell." 

0  joyful  hope  !  for  then  I  shall  have  gazed 


MIDNIGHT.  Ill 


On  my  Incarnate  Lord;  I  shall  have  raised 

To  Him  these  heavy  eyes,  tearful  no  more, 

And  faith  be  lost  in  sight.     My  grief  is  o'er. 

Farewell  till  our  next  meeting ;  it  will  be 

Where  Christ,  not  Death,  shall  veil  thy  face  from  me. 


MIDNIGHT. 

"In  ray  distress  I  called  upon  the  Lord,  and  cried  unto  my  God  : 
He  heard  my  voice  out  of  His  temple,  and  my  cry  came  before  Him, 
even  into  His  ears."  —  Psalm  xviii.  6. 

In  the  deep  stillness  of  this  silent  hour, 

0  Christ,  thy  peace  impart ; 
Now,  as  around  the  shades  of  darkness  lower, 

Speak  to  my  troubled  heart. 
Thy  voice  alone  the  doubts  of  day  can  banish, 

They  own  Thy  sweet  control; 
And  with  the  midnight  of  the  earth  doth  vanish 

The  midnight  of  my  soul. 

Oh !  let  me  rise  again,  with  all  things  rising, 

Glad,  grateful  for  Thy  light ; 
Thy  precious  promises,  Thy  love  more  prizing, 

For  the  deep  gloom  of  night. 
Lighten  mine  eyes,  that  so  my  soul  may  reckon 

The  stars  the  darkness  brings, 
And  to  a  deathless  morn  the  Sun  may  beckon 

With  healing  in  His  wings. 


112  WEEP  NOT. 


"WEEP   NOT." 

"Now  when  He  came  nigh  to  the  gate  of  the  city,  behold  there 
was  a  dead  man  carried  out,  the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and  she  was 
a  widow.  .  .  .  And  when  the  Lord  saw  her,  He  had  compassion  on 
her,  and  said  unto  her,  Weep  not." —  Luke  vii.  12,  13. 

"  Weep  not !  "     How  vain  the  words !  how  sad  in  sor- 
row 

Falleth  the  world's  cold  solace  on  the  ear ! 
"  Weep  not !  "     Can  gentle  lips  no  phrases  borrow 

To  soothe  the  grief  that  brings  the  bitter  tear  ? 
"  Weep  not !  "     Go  tell  the  mother,  when  she  presses 

Her  first-born  to  the  breast,  to  smile  no  more : 
If  thou  canst  still  her  joy,  her  glad  caresses, 

Speak  to  the  mourner,  bid  his  grief  be  o'er. 
Thou  sayest,  "  Be  calm;  weep  not !  "     Did  we  inherit 

No  earthly  sympathies,  to  hold  these  frail 
Endearing  ties,  then  might  the  listening  spirit 

Heed  thy  wise  counsel,  and  thy  words  prevail. 
Is  not  our  heart's  sweet  sunshine  from  the  faces 

We  have  best  loved  to  look  on  ?     When  'tis  flown, 
Gaze  we  not  backwards  on  its  lingering  traces, 

As  through  life's  darkened  path  we  tread  alone? 
The  bird  pines  for  its  mate;  nay,  if  a  flower 

Be  but  too  roughly  from  its  green  stem  torn, 
The  tree  will  droop  and  die.     It  is  the  dower 

Of  hearts  that  best  have  loved,  to  deepest  mourn. 


THE  TREASURE  HOUSE.  113 

"Weep  not!"     One  voice  hath  breathed  those  words; 
none  other 

Can  dry  the  tear ;  —  as  by  the  gates  of  Nain 
His  eye  of  pity  marked  the  widowed  mother, 

And  to  her  arms  restored  her  son  again. 
Oh  !  softly  tread  where  Sorrow's  children  languish 

In  silence ;  thou  the  bruised  soul  revere ; 
"Wake  not  the  smitten  heart  to  keener  anguish; 

With  idle  comfort  vex  not  thou  the  ear. 
Nay !  let  them  weep  by  life's  deserted  dwelling, 

In  that  deep  silence  God  Himself  will  speak. 
Oh  !  not  for  us  to  read  the  sorrow  swelling 

In  the  veiled  heart  that  is  so  near  to  break  : 
The  Saviour  watcheth  !  —  on  His  breast  she  weepeth. 

With  sweet  compassion,  He  who  spoke  at  Nain 
Breathes  to  her  soul,  "  A  little  time  he  sleepeth ; 

Weep  not;  I  will  restore  thy  child  again." 


THE   TREASURE   HOUSE. 

"  It  is  sown  a  natural  body  ;  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body."  —  1  Cor. 
xv.  44. 

"  Father,  I  will  that  they  also,  whom  Thou  hast  given  me,  be  with 
me  where  I  am  ;  that  they  may  behold  my  glory."  — John  xvii.  24. 

Room  for  our  treasure,  closed  Tomb ! 

Open  thy  doors,  0  Grave ! 
Take  all  the  angel  Death  can  claim, 


114  THE  TREASURE  HOUSE. 

And  all  that  thou  canst  have. 
For  Christ  to  thy  dark  gates  went  down, 

And  rent  the  vail  in  twain ; 
And  gleams  of  glory,  else  unseen, 

Point  where  He  rose  again. 

Eoom  for  thy  kindred  dust,  0  Earth ! 

The  casket  of  the  soul ; 
Room  for  a  little  while,  and  then 

Resign  thy  proud  control. 
0  Death !  where  is  thy  boasted  power 

That  break's  Life's  three-fold  cord, 
When  the  freed  spirit  upward  soars 

To  meet  her  risen  Lord  ? 

Take,  then,  the  garment  of  our  loved, 

Still  precious  for  her  sake ; 
But  glorious  shall  that  garment  be 

When  Christ  shall  bid  her  wake. 
The  faded  form  thou  dost  enfold, 

On  which  we  weeping  gazed, 
Shall  lose  each  stain  of  Earth,  and  be 

In  incorruption  raised. 


PRA  7ER.  115 


PRAYER. 
"And  His  disciples  .  .  .  went  and  told  Jesus."  —  Matt.  xiv.  12. 

Know'st  thou,  0  soul,  that  in  yon  blessed  sphere, 

Where  Jesus  reigns,  He  doth  securely  hold 
A  cure  for  all  thy  sin  and  sorrow  here  ? 

Why  art  thou  so  perplexed  when  thou  dost  fold, 
Idly  or  scornfully,  within  thy  hands 

The  key  to  His  rich  treasury  ?     Yet  now 
Thy  scalding  tears  but  water  barren  lands, 

And  mark  a  deeper  furrow  in  thy  brow. 
With  hand  unlifted,  and  unbended  knee, 

Thou  wailest  wildly  o'er  a  broken  toy : 
Thou  wilt  not  use  the  golden  promise-key, 

Why  let  the  rust  its  precious  use  destroy  ? 
Hast  thou  a  fonder  friend,  and  wilt  thou  tell 

To  him  the  woe  that  wounds  ?  or  dost  thou  hide 
Within  the  pierced  heart's  most  secret  cell 

Thy  rankling  anguish  ?     Is  it  shame,  or  pride, 
Or  cold  indifference,  or  unbelief? 

0  soul  most  desolate,  look  up  !     For  thee 
One  faithful  voice  doth  promise  sure  relief. 

Whate'er  thy  sin,  whate'er  thy  sorrow  be, 
Tell  all  to  Jesus.     He  looketh  where 

The  weary-hearted  weep,  and  draweth  near 
To  listen  fondly  to  the  half-formed  prayer, 

Or  read  the  silent  pleading  of  a  tear. 


116  SITTING  AT  THE  FEET  OF  JESUS. 

Lose  not  thy  privilege,  0  silent  soul ; 

Pour  out  thy  sorrow  at  thy  Saviour's  feet. 
What  outcast  spurns  the  hand  that  gives  the  dole  ? 

Oh,  let  Him  hear  thy  voice!  to  Him  thy  voice  is 
sweet. 


SITTING   AT   THE   FEET   OF   JESUS. 

"  One  thing  have  I  desired  of  the  Lord,  that  will  I  seek  after : 
that  I  may  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  all  the  days  of  my  life, 
to  behold  the  beauty  of  the  Lord,  and  to  enquire  in  His  temple."  — 
Psalm  xxvii.  4. 

0  Lord,  I  would  not  choose  the  way,  nor  place, 

Nor  time  to  serve  Thee :  'tis  enough  to  be, 
To  suffer,  and  be  silent.     Lo,  Thy  face, 

While  I  wept  here,  was  bent  in  love  o'er  me ! 
Shall  I  desire  to  serve  when  Thou  dost  teach, 

And  bid  me  listen?     Better  busier  souls 
Upbraid  me,  passing  with  the  chiding  speech 

That  many  a  gentler  spirit  oft  controls, 
Than  I  should  leave  Thee.     0  Thou  tender  One ! 

In  whose  pure  light  I  taste,  though  incomplete, 
Of  Thy  completeness,  let  them  "serve  alone," 

So  that  they  find  me  listening  at  Thy  feet. 
The  sun  that  measures  forth  the  glorious  day 

Is  not  more  precious  to  the  Infinite, 
Than  cloud  that  floated  'neath  its  beams  away, 


BREAD   UPON  THE  WATERS.  117 

Or  tiny  bud  that  revelled  in  its  light. 
Let  but  the  flower  chalice  meekly  hold 

Its  one  lone  pearl  the  weary  midnight  through ; 
The  smiles  of  morn  at  last  its  cup  unfold, 

Nor  scorns  the  sun  that  little  drop  of  dew. 


BREAD   UPON   THE   WATERS. 

"  Now  we  see  through  a  glass,  darkly  ;  but  then  face  to  face." 
1  Cor.  xiii.  12. 

Say  not,  "  'Twas  all  in  vain," 

The  anguish,  and  the  darkness,  and  the  strife. 
Love  thrown  upon  the  waters  comes  again 

In  quenchless  yearnings  for  a  nobler  life. 
Think,  how  at  midnight,  on  thy  weary  sight 

The  stars  shone  forth  :  beneath  their  welcome  rays 
Thy  hopes  to  heaven,  like  birds,  first  took  their  flight ; 

And  thou  shalt  find  them  —  "after  many  days." 

Say  not,  "  'Twas  all  in  vain," 

The  vigil,  and  the  sickness,  and  the  tears ; 
For  in  that  land,  where  there  is  no  more  pain, 

The  grain  is  garnered  from  these  mournful  years. 
The  faded  form,  once  sheltered  on  thy  breast, 

No  more  thy  gentle  ministry  repays, 
She  waits  with  Jesus  in  her  sinless  rest : 

Fear  not  to  find  her  —  "  after  many  days." 


118  BREAD   UPON  THE  WATERS. 

Say  not,  "  'Twas  all  in  vain," 

Thy  tenderness,  thy  meekness.    'Oh  !  not  so; 
A  strength  for  others'  sufferings  thou  shalt  gain, 

As  healing  balms  from  bruised  flowerets  flow. 
Weep  not  the  wealth,  in  fearless  faith  cast  forth 

On  the  dark  billows,  shipwrecked  to  thy  gaze ; 
The  bark  was  frail,  the  gem  has  still  its  worth, 

And  "  thou  shalt  find  it  —  after  many  days." 

Say  not,  "  'Twas  all  in  vain," 

The  watching,  and  the  waiting,  and  the  prayer : 
In  pierced  hands  hath  it  unanswered  lain  ? 

'Twill  grow  in  blessing  as  it  lingers  there. 
'Tis  space  where  once  thy  quivering  form  was  cast; 

No  floating  breeze  thy  heart-wrung  cry  betrays ; 
•Yet  through  the  white-winged  choir  thy  prayer  hath 
past, 

And  "  thou  shalt  find  it  —  after  many  days." 

Say  not,  "  'Twas  all  in  vain," 

Thy  patience,  and  thy  pity,  and  the  word 
In  warning  breathed  'mid  passion's  hurricane 

(Unheeded  here,  thy  God  that  whisper  heard) ; 
The  tender  grief,  o'er  strangers'  sorrows  shed ; 

The  sacrifice,  that  won  no  human  praise. 
In  faith  upon  the  waters  cast  thy  bread, 

For  "  thou  shalt  find  it  —  after  many  days." 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  DOVE.  119 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE   DOVE. 

"  Who  are  these  that  fly  as  a  cloud,  and  as  the  doves  to  their  win- 
dows ?  "  —  Isaiah  lx.  8. 

I  AM  going,  mother,  I  am  going 

To  the  spirit  land ; 
O'er  the  titleless  river  flowing 

Where  angels  stand. 
Yea,  beyond  that  little  star, 
"Where  God's  holy  children  are, 
To  my  home  of  light  afar, 

Mid  that  blest  band. 

I  am  leaving,  mother,  I  am  leaving 

Sin's  chains  below ; 
All  the  woes  that  years  are  weaving, 

Never  to  know. 
I  shall  live  at  Jesu's  feet ; 
Sing  the  new  song,  clear  and  sweet. 
Watch  and  pray  that  we  may  meet 

Where  now  I  go. 

I  am  praising,  mother,  I  am  praising 

Christ's  love  to  me ; 
While  thy  dear  eyes,  downward  gazing, 

No  light  can  see ; 
Yet  on  yon  glorious  throne 


120  THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  DOVE. 

Reigneth  the  Holy  One : 
Mother,  when  I  am  gone 

He'll  comfort  thee. 

They  are  singing,  mother,  they  are  singing : 
Soft !     Dost  thou  hear  ? 

Hark  !  'tis  the  echo  ringing. 

Sweetly  and  clear. 

Hark  !  hark  !  they  seem  to  say, 

"  Come,  happy  child,  away." 

Oh,  canst  thou  bid  me  stay?  — 
Jesus  is  near ! 

He  hath  bought  me,  mother,  He  hath  bought  me. 

What  can  compare 
To  the  robe  He  hath  wrought  me, 

The  robe  I  shall  wear  ? 
Fair  though  the  angels  be, 
Yet  my  soul  pants  to  see 
Jesus,  who  died  for  me : 

Lo,  He  is  there ! 


THE  SOUL  COMMITTING  ITSELF  TO  GOD.       121 


THE   SOUL   COMMITTING   ITSELF   TO   GOD. 

"Shew  me  Thy  ways,  0  Lord:  teach  me  thy  paths."  —  Psalm 
xxv.  4. 

"  Whom  have  I  in  heaven  bat  Thee?  and  there  is  none  upon  earth 
that  I  desire  beside  Thoe ."  —  Psalm  lxxiii.  25. 

Father,  for  pleasant  paths  on  earth 

My  spirit  yearneth  not ; 
For  loving  kindreds  clasping  hands 

And  home  I  ask  Thee  not. 
I  would  forego  all  anxious  thought 

And  cast  on  Thee  my  care, 
Content  to  see  Thy  love  in  all, 

To  trace  Thee  everywhere. 

Teach  me  to  listen  for  Thy  voice 

When  the  storm  howleth  loud ; 
Help  me  to  look  for  light  from  Thee 

Beneath  the  darkest  cloud ; 
To  feel  Thy  hand  the  tempest  rules, 

That  Thou  canst  hear  and  save, 
That  Thou  hast  bounded  by  Thy  will 

The  wildest,  stormiest  wave. 

The  thunder  yet  was  ne'er  so  loud 

To  drown  the  soul's  faint  cry, 
Nor  cloud  so  dark  to  hide  Thy  child 

From  Thine  all-seeing  eye. 


122      THE  SOUL  COMMITTING  ITSELF  TO  GOD. 

Lighten  mine  eyes,  that  I  may  read 

Thy  will  where'er  I  be, 
And  from  each  passing  hour  receive 

A  message,  Lord,  from  Thee. 


Lead  me  to  seek,  with  patient  prayer, 

Thy  counsel  for  my  stay, 
And  look  to  Thee  to  guide  my  steps 

In  Thine  appointed  way ; 
With  glad  and  grateful  heart  accept 

The  work  Thy  wisdom  wills, 
And  bless  the  hand  that  all  in  love 

My  cup  of  sorrow  fills. 

Show  me  the  path  that  I  should  take, 

What  heart  to  cheer  or  bless, 
Even  as  I  would  ask  of  Thee 

For  comfort  in  distress ; 
Content  to  share  in  others'  joys, 

And  if  this  may  not  be, 
Still  happy  that  my  chequered  lot 

Was  chosen,  Lord,  by  Thee. 


THE  ANGEL  MESSENGER.  123 


THE   ANGEL   MESSENGER. 

"  And  now  men  see  not  the  bright  light  which  is  in  the  clouds." 
Job  xxxvii.  21. 

Sorrow  !  thou  art  God's  angel.     On  thy  track 

A  thousand  holy  messengers  have  come, 
Calling  Thy  wandering  child  in  mercy  back, 

Pointing  afar,  and  softly  whispering,  "  Home." 
Upon  thy  path  I  trace  the  footsteps  bright 

Of  One  who  for  my  sake  with  thee  hath  trod ; 
His  tears  still  gem  the  thorns,  until  the  light 

Blends  into  radiance,  leading  on  to  God. 
The  fathomless  dark  depths  hath  Jesus  passed, 

And  left  a  lamp  to  radiate  the  tomb ; 
And  now  amid  the  gloom  its  beams  are  cast, 

The  lonely  valley's  darkness  to  illume. 
Thou  art  God's  angel,  Sorrow.     Though  thy  face, 

Veiled  by  thy  shadowy  wings,  is  hid  awhile, 
Sweet  is  the  message  on  thy  scroll  we  trace, 

A  holy  rapture  hath  thy  parting  smile. 
Cowards  are  we !     Fain  would  we  pass  thee  by 

When  thou  wouldst  wake  the  soul  by  sin  long  stained ; 
But  at  thy  flight  we  own  thy  ministry, 

And  find  we  have  an  angel  entertained. 


124  THE   WRECK. 


THE   STILL   SMALL   VOICE. 

"  I  will  instruct  thee  and  teach  thee  in  the  way  which  thou  shalt 
go:  I  will  guide  thee  with  mine  eye."  —  Psalm  xxxii.  8. 

Speak  to  me,  Lord  !  not  in  the  thunder  cloud, 

Nor  in  the  whirlwind,  lest  I  hear  and  die ; 
Nor  let  the  fearful  tempest,  hurling  loud, 

Fright  my  sad  soul  with  its  iniquity. 
Speak  in  Thy  still  small  voice,  as  it  is  heard 

By  patient  watchers  waiting  at  Thy  feet ; 
0  gracious  Spirit !  by  Thy  Holy  Word 

Draw  Thou  the  sinner  to  Thy  mercy-seat. 
Man  doth  make  dark  Thy  counsel.     Oh,  speak  Thou 

Till  a  great  calm  subdues  the  billows  wild  ! 
Thy  grace  sufficeth  !     Lord,  Thy  grace  bestow, 

And  with  Thy  counsel  guide  Thy  weakest  child. 


THE   WRECK. 
"  There  was  no  more  sea."  —  Rev.  xxi.  1. 

On  the  shore  of  the  blue  Atlantic  is  a  wailing  of  wild 

despair : 
0  mourners !  why  weep  by  the  waters  for  treasures 

that  rest  not  there  ? 


THE   WRECK.  125 


Each  dash  of   the  roaring  breakers  sounds  sad  as  a 

funeral  knell ; 
The  sob,  and  the  shriek,  and  the  struggle,  seem  borne 

on  the  billowy  swell. 

Yet  dwell  not  alone  on  the  parting,  let  memory  return 

to  the  years 
When  your  tenderness  soothed  the  sad-hearted  —  your 

hand  dried  the  sorrowful  tears, 
When  one  goal  and  one  hope  on  your  pathway  alike 

their  glad  promises  shed  : 
Our  God  is  the  God  of  the  living  —  then  mourn  not 

the  living  as  dead. 

Were  your  wranderers  alone,  then,  forsaken — unheard 

on  the  angry  wave? 
Unseen  by  thy  Saviour,  who  raised  the  dead  from  the 

bier  and  the  grave  ? 
Not  lost  in  the  ocean's  dark  caverns  the  loved  of  your 

household  sleep, 
But  above,  in  a  halo  of  glory,  their  watch  with  the 

angels  keep. 

Afar   from   the   strife   and  the  terror,  secure  in  our 

Father's  home, 
O'er  the  waste  of  the  world's  wild  waters  they  wait  for 

their  loved  to  come. 
No  trace  of  their  meek  endurance  o'ershadows  the  freed 

ones'  brow ; 


126  THE   WRECK. 


No  dank  hair  entangled  with  sea-weed,  as  ye  picture 
the  parted  now. 

But  smiles  light  their  calm,  sweet  faces;  love  beams 

from  each  tender  eye ; 
And  fair,  as  it  twined  round   your  fingers,  the  bright 

golden  tresses  float  by. 
Hush!     "Quell  thou   thy   murmurs;"    they  whisper, 

"  We  sin  not,  we  sorrow  no  more ; 
We  would  soothe  you,  beloved,  could  you  listen,  till 

earths  passing  anguish  were  o'er. 

"Thy   Saviour  hath  rest  for  the  weary;  He  heedeth 

the  soul's  faintest  prayer ; 
Ere  the  desolate  utter,  '  Lord,  hear  me ! '  the  God  of 

the  mourner  is  there. 
Oh    watch !    let  your  light,    then,   be    burning !    none 

know  when  His  coming  shall  be ; 
In   the   kingdom  of  God  in  its  glory  —  there — there 

shall  be  no  more  sea." 


Then  on  with  a  noble  courage,  unfurrow  the  grief-knit 

brow ; 
Could  ye  see  but  the  band  of  the  blessed,  rejoicing  in 

freedom  now, 
Ye  would  join  in  the  song  of  the  Seraph,  nor  hopelessly 

weep  by  the  wave, 
But  trustfully  give  back  the  treasures  our  God  in  His 

mercy  once  gave. 


WORDS.  127 


WORDS. 

"Set  a  watch,  0  Lord,  before  my  mouth:  keep  the  door  of  m}* 
lips."  —  Psalm  cxh.  3. 

"  Ever}'  idle  word  that  men  shall  speak,  they  shall  give  account 
thereof  in  the  day  of  judgment."  —  Matt.  xii.  36. 

"  The  words  of  the  pure  are  pleasant  words."  —  Prov.  xv.  2Q. 

Oh,  never  say  a  careless  word 

Hath  not  the  power  to  pain ; 
The  shaft  may  ope  some  hidden  wound 

That  closes  not  again. 
Weigh  well  those  light- winged  messengers; 

God  marked  thy  heedless  word, 
And  with  it,  too,  the  falling  tear, 

The  heart-pang  which  it  stirred. 

Words  !  what  are  words  ?     An  idle  breath 

That  floateth  lightly  by, 
Smiles  on  the  lip  from  whence  it  came 

In  tones  of  melody. 
Yet  words  have  strength  to  wound  or  bless, 

Though  lightly  they  be  flung ; 
Still  writ  upon  some  human  heart, 

Told  by  an  angel's  tongue. 

Words  !  what  are  words  ?     A  simple  sound 

Hath  spells  to  call  the  tears 
That  long  have  lain  a  sealed  fount, 

Through  many  mournful  years. 


128  WORDS. 


Back  from  the  shrouded  sepulchre 

A  word  hath  summoned  forth 
A  form,  that  hath  its  place  no  more 

Among  the  things  of  earth. 

Words !     Heed  them  well.     Some  whispered  tone 

Hath  yet  a  power  to  fling 
A  shadow  on  the  brow,  the  soul 

In  agony  to  wring ; 
A  name,  forbidden  or  forgot, 

That  sometimes  unawares 
Murmurs  upon  our  wakening  lips, 

And  mingles  in  our  prayers. 

Oh,  words,  sweet  words !     A  blessing  comes 

Softly  from  kindly  lips ; 
Tender,  endearing  words,  that  break 

The  spirit's  drear  eclipse. 
Oh,  are  there  not  some  cherished  tones 

Deep  in  the  heart  enshrined  ? 
Uttered  but  once,  they  passed,  and  left 

A  track  of  light  behind. 

Words  !  what  are  words  ?     Ah  !  know'st  thou  not 

The  household  names  of  love  ? 
The  thousand  tender  memories 

That  float  their  graves  above  ? 
Buried  beneath  the  world's  cold  tread, 


WORDS.  129 


Yei  'mid  the  crowd  they  rise, 
And  smile,  as  angel-guests  would  smile, 
With  gentle,  earnest  eyes. 

Thou  hast  been  blest,  if  never  bent 

Thy  head  in  anguish  low 
To  hide  the  trembling  lip,  the  tear 

One  word  hath  caused  to  flow ; 
Striving  in  vain  to  mask  the  pain 

Veiled  by  thy  silent  pride, 
While  faintly  smiled  the  blanching  lip 

That  strove  the  pang  to  hide. 

But  oh  !  more  blest  if  memory  bring 

No  record  from  the  past, 
When  careless  word  or  glance  of  thine 

A  withering  shadow  cast; 
If  no  loved  one  hath  sorrowing  wept, 

When  through  the  quivering  soul 
Thy  bitter  words  went  echoing 

Like  thunder's  sullen  roll. 

God's  high  and  holy  dwelling-place 

Those  words  went  floating  by, 
And  still  the  echo  wanders  on 

Throughout  eternity  ; 
And  in  the  silence  of  the  heart 

Their  whisper  still  is  heard : 
0  Jesus,  with  thy  precious  blood 

Blot  out  the  idle  word, 


130  SHROUDED  BLESSINGS. 

Are  there  no  words  that  from  the  fount 

Of  life  and  blessing  come, 
Cheering  the  sorrowing  soul  with  love, 

And  leading  wanderers  home  ? 
O  Christ !  write  Thou  Thy  words  of  peace 

Upon  my  heart,  and  be 
The  guard  of  each  winged  messenger 

That  upward  flies  to  Thee. 


SHROUDED   BLESSINGS. 

"  I  will  lead  them  in  paths  that  they  have  not  known  :  I  will 
make  darkness  light  before  them,  and  crooked  things  Rtraight:  these 
things  will  I  do  unto  them,  and  not  forsake  them."  —  Isaiah  xlii.  10. 

Not  only  for  the  light  of  loving  hearts 

That  cheered  my  lonely  life,  I  thank  Thee,  God ; 
Not  for  my  childhood's  home,  nor  tearless  eyes, 

Nor  pleasant  paths  of  peace  my  feet  have  trod  ; 
But  that  the  idols,  tenderly  embraced 

By  this  weak  heart,  and  falsely  called  mine  own, 
Thou  didst  withdraw,  that  I  in  time  might  learn 

To  lean  upon  Thy  holy  arm  alone. 
For  the  sharp  reed  that  pierced  this  feeble  hand, 

For  thorn-torn  feet  that  Thou  alone  couldst  see, 
For  the  deep  fount  of  tears  by  Thee  told  o'er, 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord.    They  brought  me  nearer  Thee. 


I 


LET  US  GO  FORTH.  131 


"LET   US   GO   FORTH!" 

"  Let  us  go  forth  therefore  unto  Him  without  the  camp,  bearing 
His  reproach."  —  Heb.  xiii.  13. 

"  To  him  that  overcometh  will  I  grant  to  sit  with  Me  in  My  throne, 
even  as  I  also  overcame,  and  am  set  down  with  My  Father  in  His 
throne.  He  that  hath  an  ear,  let  him  hear  what  the  Spirit  saith 
unto  the  churches."  — Rev.  iii.  21,  22. 

"  Let  us  go  forth !  "  and  leave  the  world  behind  us, 
And  meet  the  perils  of  the  pilgrim  way ; 

Where  Jesus  leads,  let  mocking  scoffers  find  us 
Still  hastening  onward,  as  they  bid  us  stay. 

"  Let  us  go  forth  !  "  and  tell  the  same  sweet  story, 
How  Christ  for  us  a  helpless  Babe  became ; 

Point  to  the  dying  Lamb,  the  Lord  of  glory, 
Strong  in  the  might  that  lives  in  Jesus'  Name. 

"  Let  us  go  forth  !  "     The  pilgrim  and  the  stranger 
Owns  not  the  earth  his  weary  foot  must  tread ; 

God's  sinless  Son,  once  pillowed  in  the  manger, 
Had  not  below  whereon  to  lay  His  head. 

"  Let  us  go  forth  !  "     Where  Jesus  walked  before  us, 
Unmoved  by  praise  or  censure's  fleeting  breath, 

God's  eye  of  love  is  fondly  watching  o'er  us, 
The  arms  Eternal  stretching  underneath. 


132  RETURNING. 


"  Let  us  go  forth!  "     Without  the  camp  there  liveth 
The  Strength  of  Israel !     Ye  of  heavenly  birth, 

Bask  in  the  smile  the  loving  Master  giveth 

To  them  that  follow  Him.     "  Let  us  go  forth  !  " 


RETURNING. 

Jesus    beholding  him  loved  him,  and  said  unto   him,  One  thing 
thou  lackest."  —  Mark  x.  21. 

Once  I  said  :  0  Master,  tell  me 

How  Thy  kingdom  to  attain  ; 
What  shall  fit  me  for  Thy  presence  ? 

How  Thy  favor  may  I  gain  ? 

"  Leave,"  He  said,  "  thy  rich  possessions ; 

Come,  and  thou  shalt  fitted  be 
For  the  kingdom  of  My  Father : 

Take  thy  cross,  and  follow  Me." 

Then  I  turned  me  full  of  sorrow, 
Counting  up  life's  precious  store; 

For  I  knew  not  all  the  idols 
Cherished  in  my  heart  before. 

But  the  Saviour  looked  upon  me, 
And  He  loved  me ;  oh,  how  well ! 

Love  awaked  new  life  within  me, 
Light  upon  my  spirit  fell. 


THE  GOLDEN  SCEPTRE.  133 

Then  how  poor  were  my  possessions, 
And  my  treasures  mean  and  dim : 

Jesus  Christ  had  smiled  upon  me ; 
I  returned  and  followed  Him. 

0  my  Lord !  Thy  smile  was  favor, 
Though  on  my  cold  heart  it  shone ; 

And  Thy  love  is  life  eternal : 

So  my  wandering  heart  was  won. 


THE   GOLDEN  SCEPTRE. 

"  What  wilt  thou,  Queen  Esther?  and  what  is  thy  request?"  — 
Esther  v.  3. 

"  This  is  the  confidence  that  we  have  in  Him,  that,  if  we  ask  any- 
thing according  to  His  will,  He  heareth  us."  —  1  John  v.  14. 

"All  things  are  yours."  —  1  Cor.  iii.  21. 

"  All  things  are  yours  !  "  Yea,  Lord,  I  know  it ; 

But  oh,  how  cold  my  heart  must  be 
To  doubt  the  love  that  can  bestow  it, 

And  tarry  still  afar  from  Thee ! 

I  claim  Thy  promise  while  I  plead  it ; 

Behold,  I  take  Thee  at  Thy  word ; 
Thou  seest  how  much  to-day  I  need  it : 

Help  for  the  helpless,  gracious  Lord ! 


134  THE  GOLDEN  SCEPTRE. 

Look  on  my  sick,  my  dumb,  my  dying, 
Touch  Thou  my  blind  that  they  may  see; 

This  broken  heart,  in  anguish  sighing : 
I  bring  them  one  and  all  to  Thee. 

My  heart's  best  treasures,  here  I  give  them, 
To  be  within  Thy  temple  stored; 

And  as  life's  landmarks  there  I  leave  them, 
"  Because  I  asked  (them)  of  the  Lord." 

When  love  would  fail  in  fruitless  yearning, 
Thy  golden  censer  wafts  my  prayers ; 

I  see  the  perfumed  incense  burning: 

All  things  are  mine,  all  things  are  theirs. 

I  bring  the  care,  sharp  and  oppressing ; 

The  way  perplexed;  the  path  untrod; 
This  feeble  service  for  Thy  blessing, 

Oh  crown  it,  "  Given  thee  of  God !  " 

I  ask  for  patience,  faith,  and  meekness, 
And  love  divine  that  all  endures  : 

Give  me  Thy  strength  to  meet  my  weakness, 
Since  Thou  hast  said,  "All  things  are  yours." 

I  bring  the  sin  my  soul  distressing, 

That  Thou  mayst  cleanse  me  pure  and  white ; 

The  faint  foreboding  past  expressing, 
But  clear  before  Thy  searching  sight. 


SILENCE.  135 


Oh,  let  me  feel  Thee  ever  nigh  me, 
And  seek  Thy  smile  all  gifts  above ! 

No  good  thing  will  Thy  grace  deny  me, 
The  object  of  Thy  changeless  love. 

Thus  shall  I  tread  the  roaring  billow, 
Looking  to  Him  who  hears  it  roar  ; 

Thy  hand  my  guide,  Thy  breast  my  pillow, 
Lord,  let  me  trust,  and  doubt  no  more ! 

Safe  in  the  bark  Thou  badst  me  enter, 
I'll  triumph  in  Thy  power  divine ; 

And  on  Thy  word  my  all  I  venture, 

For  Thou  hast  said,  "  All  things  are  mine.' 


SILENCE. 

He  answered  her  not  a  word.  ...  0  woman,  great  is  thy  faith: 
be  it  unto  thee  even  as  thou  wilt."  —  Matt.  xv.  23,  28. 

Say  not,  "  He  answered  nothing."     Thou  didst  pray, 
"  Give  me  Thyself!  "  and  lo  !  He  takes  away 
Thine  idol  from  thy  fond  arms'  fevered  fold; 
His  garment's  hem  thy  failing  fingers  hold. 
Hush  !  in  that  solemn  silence  He  hath  heard 
Thy  sob  of  anguish  and  each  faltering  word ; 
Go,  plead  again,  and  yet  again  :  thy  need 
Is  what  thy  Saviour  meteth  ;  therefore  plead. 
What!  still  He  answereth  nothing  !     Nay;  beneath 
That  silence  rolls,  "  0  woman,  great  thy  faith  !  " 


136  THE  LOOK. 


THE   LOOK. 

The  Lord  looked  upon  liim,  and  said,  Go  in  this  thy  might. 
Judges  vi.  14. 

I  looked  upon  the  olive-grove, 

What  comfort  could  it  bring  ? 
The  fruitful  vine,  once  full  of  speech, 

Was  but  a  common  thing. 
Up  to  the  gorgeous  skies  I  gazed, 

Down  to  the  silvery  sea, 
On  to  the  purple  sunset  heights; 

But  all  were  dumb  to  me. 


Then  back  I  turned  to  vanished  days, 

When  Christ  His  love  revealed : 
To  messages  of  hope  and  peace 

His  faithful  hand  had  sealed. 
And  well  I  knew,  "  for  me  He  died," 

But  yet  no  rest  could  be, 
Until  my  drooping  heart  could  sing, 

"  My  Saviour  lives  for  me." 


I  looked  upon  my  wounded  feet, 

So  often  led  astray ; 
I  strove  to  count  my  countless  sins, 

For  ever  put  away ; 


THE  LOOK.  137 


I  looked  on  everything  but  Him, 
Iii  desolating  grief. 

And  found  !  —  0  heart,  what  couldst  thou  find 
Of  solace  and  relief? 


Then  sat  I  down  before  the  Lord, 

That  He  my  need  might  see ; 
And  helpless,  hopeless,  speechless,  there 

My  Saviour  looked  on  me. 
Oh,  look  of  life  !  oh,  might  of  love  ! 

My  heart  that  glance  returned, 
And  melting  'neath  His  heavenly  smile, 

With  joy  and  ardor  burned. 

Just  so  my  sweet  and  sovereign  Lord 

On  Peter  looked  before  : 
He,  in  the  strength  of  that  one  look, 

Denied  his  Lord  no  more ; 
But  followed  Him  in  life  to  death : 

Lord,  let  me  do  the  same ; 
Yea,  let  me  go  in  this  Thy  might  — 

Strong  in  Thy  holy  Name. 


138  MELIORA. 


MELIORA. 

"  The  disciple  is  not  above  his  Master."  —  Luke  vi.  40. 
"  That  no  man  should  be  moved  by  these  afflictions :  for  yourselves 
know  that  we  are  appointed  thereunto."  —  1  Thess.  iii.  3. 

The  wilderness  way  I  wandered 

Had  many  a  valley  and  hill  ; 
When  I  heard  a  song  in  the  silence  : 

Its  melody  lingereth  still. 
It  breathed  o'er  my  sinking  spirit  — 

"  Meliora !     Child,  look  up ! 
Follow  thy  Master's  footsteps  ; 

Drink  of  thy  Master's  cup." 

Sadly  I  smiled  as  I  answered  — 

"  How  can  I  follow  Him  now  ? 
The  light  is  gone  from  the  mountain, 

And  wildly  the  night  winds  blow. 
I  wield  no  sword  for  our  Leader ; 

No  banner  my  weak  hands  hold: 
I  but  clasp  it  close  to  my  bosom, 

And  hide  in  its  crimson  fold." 


11  Droop  not  to-day.     Meliora ! 

Drink  of  the  chalice  He  fills : 
Grace  is  laid  up  for  the  weakest, 

Strength  for  the  service  He  wills. 


MELIORA.  139 


1  All  things  are  yours  ' ;  yea,  the  glory, 
The  darkness,  the  desert,  to-day ; 

And  He  who  hath  trod  it  before  thee 
Hath  hallowed  thy  toilsome  way. 


"Fight  'gainst  the  power  of  evil; 

Up  to  the  girded  race ! 
Each  hath  a  charge  in  the  temple, 

All  in  the  kingdom  a  place. 
Wait  where  thy  Master  hath  called  thee, 

Patiently  suffer  His  will; 
Enough,  oh,  enough,  if  He  bade  thee 

Be  silent,  and  helpless,  and  still. 

"  Brave  hearts  fall  in  the  battle, 

The  race  and  the  chaplet  won ; 
And  some  with  the  standard  flying 

Must  rally  the  ranks  alone ; 
Some  lie  on  the  wayside  wounded, 

And  some  with  their  Leader  rest : 
Who  doeth  the  will  of  the  Father 

Serveth  the  Master  best. 


"  So  keep  thy  watch  at  the  portal ; 

The  Master  hath  bid  thee  wait, 
And  speak  the  word  that  He  gives  thee, 

As  wanderers  pass  the  gate. 


140  MELIORA. 


When  the  sneer  of  the  scoffer  moves  thee; 

Meliora  !     Child,  look  up  ! 
Follow  thy  Master's  footsteps ; 

Drink  of  thy  Master's  cup. 

"  A  vessel  meet  for  His  service 

The  Potter  must  frame  and  mould ; 
There's  the  fining-pot  for  the  silver, 

And  the  furnace -flame  for  the  gold  : 
But  One  watches  o'er  the  fire  — 

A  watch  that  thou  canst  not  share ; 
Look  up  !  Look  up  !  Meliora ! 

The  Lord  whom  thou  lov'st  is  there." 


Over  the  world's  wide  waters 

The  dove  could  her  message  bring ; 
And  still  at  our  curtained  casement 

A  minstrel  waiteth  to  sing. 
There's  many  a  bird  at  the  threshold 

Who  bringeth  a  song  in  the  night ; 
And  we  praise  the  love  that  hath  lent  him, 

As  we  follow  his  upward  flight. 


Thus  often  my  night-watch  keeping, 
In  moments  with  sadness  fraught, 

Sweet  words  to  my  drooping  spirit 
Have  the  billows  of  ocean  brought. 


THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIER.  141 

Greetings  from  heavenly  kindred 

I  never  on  earth  shall  see, 
And  blessings  from  friends  long  parted 

Are  songs  like  my  bird's  to  me. 

And  low  they  sing,  "Meliora! 

The  journey  is  shortening  home ; 
To-night  we  are  nearer  the  Glory, 

And  brighter  the  days  to  come. 
Secure  in  the  arms  that  bear  thee, 

Meliora  !  take  thy  rest : 
Who  doeth  the  will  of  the  Father 

Serveth  the  Master  best." 


THE   WOUNDED   SOLDIER. 

The  soul  of  the  wounded  crieth  out :  yet  God  layeth  not  folly  to 
them."  —  Job  xxiv.  12. 

It  was  the  hour  of  battle, 

No  human  eye  looked  on ; 
Angels  and  devils,  marvel ; 

A  victory  is  won  ! 

There  is  a  moan  of  anguish, 

A  warrior  lies  low ; 
A  poisoned  shaft  is  proving 

The  malice  of  the  foe. 


142  THE   WOUNDED  SOLDIER. 

In  the  still  midnight  hour 
No  other  sound  is  heard ; 

The  weary  hands  fall  helpless 
That  wielded  well  the  sword. 

There  is  no  song  of  triumph, 
And  none  the  chaplet  twine, 

O  weak  and  wounded  soldier, 
For  that  pale  brow  of  thine. 

Hath  earth  no  balm  to  bring  him  ? 

Hath  love  no  word  to  speak, 
As  in  the  dust  he  lieth, 

With  heart  so  nigh  to  break  ? 

For  fierce  the  foe  that  found  him, 
(And  who  his  power  can  scan  ?) 

Oh,  is  there  none  to  succor 
That  sad  and  lonely  man  ? 

Not  earth,  with  all  its  glories 
Could  solace  now  impart; 

Nor  earthly  love,  the  dearest, 
Uphold  that  sinking  heart. 

But  see  !  the  Man  of  Sorrows 
Comes  where  His  soldier  lies ; 

He  marks  the  lip  that  quivers 
In  untold  agoni' 


THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIER.  143 

Say,  doth  He  bring  him  fetters, 

Or  comes  He  to  upbraid  ? 
Nay !  to  the  rest  that  fails  not 

He  draws  the  drooping  head. 

And  in  that  deep,  deep  silence 
The  gaping  wounds  are  bound, 

With  touch  so  soft  and  gentle  — 
Hush  !  it  is  holy  ground. 

0  Christ !     Thy  tender  pity 

For  every  pang  I  see ; 
Each  sob  of  pain  is  numbered, 

And  counted  as  for  Thee. 

Yea,  closer,  and  yet  closer, 

Thy  wounded  one  is  prest ; 
And  human  woes  are  whispered 

Upon  a  human  breast. 

Then  in  the  solemn  silence 

I  hear  the  whisper  sweet, 
"  Fear  not,  My  wounded  soldier ; 

Behold  My  hands  and  feet !  " 

The  fever  dream  is  over ; 

The  tearless  eyes  can  weep ; 
And  He,  whose  arms  enfold  him, 

Gives  His  beloved  sleep. 


144  THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIER. 

Rest,  rest,  0  wounded  soldier ! 

Distrust  thy  Lord  no  more ; 
And  think  not  strange  the  battle 

Thy  Captain  fought  before. 

He  knows  thy  fierce  accuser ; 

Thou  shalt  not  fall  nor  yield ; 
Hold  fast  thy  blood-red  banner, 

Thy  bright  sword,  and  thy  shield. 

Behold  thy  strength  in  Jesus ; 

Believe  thy  Brother  nigh, 
Whose  heart  in  love  o'erfloweth 

With  tenderest  sympathy. 

Thou  hast  no  pain  He  feels  not, 
No  pang  He  cannot  share ; 

And  when  the  fight  was  hottest, 
Deliverance  was  near. 

He  kept  thee  in  the  conflict ; 

His  shield  was  o'er  thee  thrown ; 
A  Conqueror  ne'er  defeated, 

Thy  battle  was  His  own. 

Rest  in  His  love,  and  fear  not ; 

The  victory  is  won. 
0  weak  and  wounded  soldier, 

Thy  Lord  hath  said,  "  Well  done !  " 


WHISPERS  'NEATH  THE  PALMS.  145 


WHISPERS   'NEATH   THE   PALMS. 

"  And  when  they  had  platted  a  crown  of  thorns,  they  put  it  upon 
His  head,  and  a  reed  in  His  right  hand."  — Matt,  xxvii.  29. 

"  We  have  this  treasure  in  earthen  vessels,  that  the  excellency  of 
the  power  may  be  of  God,  and  not  of  us.  .  .  .  Always  bearing  about 
in  the  body  the  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  that  the  life  also  of  Jesus 
might  be  made  manifest  in  our  body."  — 2  Cor.  iv.  7,  10. 

As  wearily  I  wandered  on  a  day, 

Where  noiselessly  the  yellow  Nile  sweeps  by, 
I  rested  'neath  a  Palm,  whose  branches  spread 

Their  dark  green  leaves  against  the  glowing  sky. 

Bright  flashed  the  light  o'er  minaret  and  dome, 
And  the  blue  desert  seemed  a  pathless  shore 

To  fairer  temples  builded  in  the  sky, 

Of  every  rainbow  hue  that  clouds  e'er  wore. 

Vainly  I  listened  for  the  Palm's  sweet  song : 
Her  golden  crown  was  glist'ning  in  the  sun, 

And  down  the  stately  bole  the  rippling  rays 
Seemed  like  a  molten  rivulet  to  run. 

But  all  was  silence  round  me,  silence  deep ; 

The  wind's  hot  breath  the  feathery  foliage  stirred ; 
But  that  blest  Name,  all  other  names  above, 

In  whispered  harmony  I  never  heard. 

Just  so  Thy  Praise,  Lord,  slumbered  in  my  soul, 
Waiting  the  Holy  Spirit's  quickening  might ; 


146  WHISPEES  'NEATH  THE  PALMS. 

Sleeping  for  sadness  till  Thy  south  wind  came 
To  wake  Thy  garden  into  life  and  light. 

A  few  frail  reeds  and  rushes  fringed  the  shore, 
Their  bloom  and  verdure  gone,  broken  and  dry, 

Fit  emblem  of  a  helpless,  lifeless  thing  : 
0  gracious  Master,  such  a  one  am  I ! 

I  watched  the  white  doves  pass  me  in  their  flight, 
And  longed  for  such  fleet  pinions  to  be  free, 

So  to  escape  this  stormy  wilderness, 

And  rest  for  ever,  Lord,  with  Thee  —  with  Thee ! 

Mourning,  I  bowed  beside  that  turbid  wave, 

Like  the  poor  reed  parched  in  the  summer  drought, 

And  learned  again  a  lesson  conned  before, 

Of  base  things,  things  despised,  and  things  of  nought. 

For  softer  than  the  wild  dove's  plaintive  note, 
Or  voice  of  many  waters,  gentle  stole 

The  tender  chiding  of  a  wounded  Friend, 

And  its  low  whisper  shook  my  prostrate  soul 

"  And  wilt  thou  also  go  away,  while  yet 

The  whitened  fields  await  the  golden  morn? 

'Canst  thou  not  watch  with  Me  one  little  hour,' 
To  cheer  some  wanderer,  weary  and  forlorn?  " 

And  then  I  answered,  "  Lord,  no  skill  have  I : 
My  hand  is  feeble,  and  my  spirit  quails. 


WHISPER8  'NEATH  THE  PALMS.  147 

Let  me  lie  down  in  silence  at  Thy  feet ; 
Weary  and  faint,  at  last  my  courage  fails." 

"  Child,  wouldst  thou  rest  while  yet  the  Master  wai  ts  ? 

Droop  in  the  race  before  the  crown  is  won? 
Escape  the  shame,  the  burden,  and  the  toil, 

And  lose  the  seed-time  ere  thy  work  be  done  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  learned,  Lord,  I  have  no  strength ; 

And  if  I  have,  it  wars  against  Thy  will. 
Thou  bid'st  me  wait,  and  I  am  full  of  care ; 

Thou  call'st  me  forward,  and  behold  me,  still !  " 

"  I  am  thy  Strength  ;  and  thou  shalt  live  to  praise 
For  all  the  way  I  led  thee.     Why  repine  ? 

Be  of  good  courage,  'tis  My  word  thou  bear'st; 
Be  thine  the  willing  heart,  the  power  is  Mine." 

"  My  harp  is  all  unstrung;  my  only  song 
Is,  like  the  palm-tree's,  folded  in  a  word ; 

And  e'en  my  praise  is  stammered  more  than  sung, 
My  coward  heart  lies  low  —  Thou  know'st  it,  Lord  ! 

"  Oh,  were  I  like  yon  fair  and  fruitful  Palm, 

Glory  and  pleasure  Thou  wouldst  find  in  me ; 
Gath'ring  the  warmth  and  lio;ht  from  heaven  alone, 

DO  ' 

I'd  bear  my  golden  fruit,  a  crown  for  Thee !  " 

"  Patience,  poor  weary  one  !     The  lofty  Palm, 
That  by  the  waters  spreads  its  thirsty  root, 


148  WHISPERS  'NEATH  THE  PALMS. 

Is  not  more  fair  in  its  Creator's  eyes 

Than  the  bruised  reed  beneath  thy  careless  foot. 

"  Did  they  not  crown  thy  Master's  brow  with  thorns, 
And  lead  Him  forth  to  die  —  yea,  die  for  thee  — 

Surrounded  by  the  scoffing  multitude, 

That  in  false  homage  bent  the  mocking  knee? 

"  Hast  thou  not  wept,  while  pondering  on  that  hour? 

I  know  thou  hast.     But  didst  thou  never  heed 
How  in  His  hand,  the  right  Hand  of  His  power, 

They  thrust  a  sceptre?  —  'twas  a  feeble  reed. 

"  They  knew  not  what  they  did ;  but  thou  hast  known. 

Why  art  thou  troubled?     Why  this  sore  distress? 
For  that  frail  sceptre  still  shall  bruise  the  foe, 

And  carry  comfort  to  the  comfortless. 

"  They  knew  not  what  they  did.     It  is  that  Hand 
That  now  upholds  thee,  lest  thou  fly,  or  yield  : 

Cast  then  thy  weakness  on  Almighty  power ; 
I  am  thy  sure  reward,  thy  Sun  and  Shield." 

"  Oh,  cleanse  the  vessel  Thou  hast  emptied,  Lord, 
And  make  me  meet  to  bear  the  oil  and  wine  ! 

It  is  enouo-h  to  be  a  thins;  of  nought : 

The  might  and  glory,  Lord,  be  Thine  —  all  Thine  !  " 

[Note.  —  It  is  an  Oriental  tradition,  that  the  palm  branches,  when 
they  quiver  in  the  wind,  whisper  the  name  which  is  above  all  other 
names  —  "Jesus."     The  only  traveller  I  have  met  who  ever  listened 


"STREAMS  THAT  MAKE  GLAD:'  149 

for  it  \v:is  a  Christian  officer,  who  told  me  he  had  slept  beneath  a 

group  of  these  interesting  trees,  so  full  of  Scripture  emblems,  and  on 
his  waking  he  thought  there  was  no  difficulty  in  imagining  the  sound 
of  a  Hebrew  word  produced  by  the  morning  breeze  sweeping  through 
the  long  palm-leaves.     To  him  its  voice  was  "  Ishi."  —  IIosea  ii.  1C] 


"STREAMS  THAT  MAKE   GLAD   THE   CITY 
OF  OUR  GOD." 

"  Whosoever  drinketh  of  the  water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall 
never  thirst ;  but  the  water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall  be  in  him  a 
well  of  water  springing  up  into  everlasting  life."  —  John  iv.  14.. 

"  He  that  believeth  on  Me,  as  the  Scripture  hath  said,  out  of  his 
belly  shall  flow  rivers  of  living  water."  —  John  vii.  38. 

Make  me,  Lord,  as  a  fountain, 

Spring  from  the  depths  below  ! 
Far  in  channels  of  blessing 

The  waters  of  life  may  flow ; 
Soft  as  the  night-dew  falling, 

Swift  as  the  carrier  dove, 
Bearing  my  Master's  message, 

Telling  my  Saviour's  love  : 

Springing  up  in  the  sunshine, 

Glad  in  its  dazzling  light, 
Cheering  the  heart-sick  watcher, 

Whispering  songs  in  the  night; 
Loving  the  stars  that  lightened 


150  H  my  infirmity: 


The  drops  that  in  sadness  fell, 
Ever  fresh  springs  rise  in  the  darkness, 
Deep  from  the  fathomless  well. 

Then  to  run  as  a  river  — 

A  river  of  truth  and  joy  — 
A  river  to  flow  for  ever, 

When  cisterns  of  earth  are  dry, 
Bearing  a  brother's  burden 

Over  the  dark  world's  flood, 
Filling  a  thousand  fountains 

To  gladden  the  City  of  God. 


"MY  INFIRMITY." 

"  He  that  spared  not  His  own  Son,  but  delivered  Him  up  for  us 
all,  how  shall  He  not  with  Him  also  freely  give  us  all  things?" 
—  Rom.  viii.  32. 

"Hath  God  forgotten  to  be  gracious?  hath  He  in  anger  shut 
up  His  tender  mercies  ?  And  I  said,  This  is  my  infirmity."  — 
Psalm  lxxvii.  9,  10. 

I  wept  by  the  misty  headland, 

Down  by  the  sea ; 
And  none  in  that  hour  of  anguish 

Stood  there  by  me. 
"Within  and  without  was  midnight; 

Where  once  had  been 
The  smile  of  the  Lord  who  loved  me, 

No  Lord  was  seen. 


MY  INFIRMITY."  151 


I  said,  "  On  this  earth's  wide  bosom 

I  walk  alone ; 
God  hideth  His  face,  I'm  forsaken ; 

All  hope  is  gone. 
I  watch  for  His  hand  in  the  shadows 

That  shroud  my  feet ; 
I  listen,  and  nothing  I  hear,  save 

My  heart's  wild  beat. 

"  Cold,  drear,  is  my  soul,  and  loveless, 

Hopeless  and  dead ; 
For  God  has  departed  for  ever," 

Sadly  I  said. 
"  I  shall  never  more  bask  in  His  presence, 

Never  proclaim, 
With  a  song  and  the  voice  of  thanksgiving. 

Jesus'  sweet  Name. 

"  Yet  how  can  I  marvel  He  leaves  me, 

Faithless  and  vain, 
To  walk  in  the  light  of  His  favor 

Never  again  ! 
My  heart  hath  forsaken  His  mercies, 

And  mercy  is  past, 
And   my   Lord,    whom    my   sins   have   lon^ 
wearied, 

Leaves  me  at  last." 

Then,  swift  as  the  flash  of  the  lightning 
Passing  the  sky, 


152  "  MY  INFIRMITY." 

Came  a  voice,  like  a  dove's  in  the  woodland, 

So  tenderly : 
"  When  father  and  mother  forsake  thee, 

Look  thou  above ; 
The  Father  Eternal  remembers 

The  child  of  His  love. 

"  The  shadows  have  gathered  around  thee, 

Born  of  the  light  ; 
Had  the  sun  never  risen  to  warm  thee, 

Where  were  thy  night  ? 
Eemember  the  springs  in  the  desert, 

Arid  and  drear  ; 
For  thee  hath  the  wilderness  blossomed, 

Why  dost  thou  fear? 

"  There  are  treasures  beneath  the  dark  waters ; 

Seek  thou,  and  learn  ; 
Hidden  riches  in  secret  places 

Thou  must  discern. 
And  think  not  He  changes  or  chides  thee ; 

Comforts  decline ; 
But  Christ  made  the  covenant  blessings 

Eternally  thine. 

"  He  gave  thee  His  promise  to  keep  thee ; 

Can  He  deceive  ? 
He  granted  His  Word  and  His  Spirit ; 

Only  believe. 


cnojyy  jewels.  153 


He  sought  thee,  cast  out  and  forsaken, 

Bidding  thee  '  Live.' 
He  gave  thee  the  Son  of  His  bosom ; 

More  can  He  give?  " 

Then  swift  on  the  purple  headland, 

Down  by  the  sea, 
The  light  that  seemed  vanished  for  ever 

Came  back  to  me ; 
And  I  looked  on  the  Man  Christ  Jesus 

On  God's  high  throne. 
Forgive  me,  my  Father ;  I  measured 

Thy  love  by  my  own. 


CROWN    JEWELS. 

"  The  Lord  their  God  shall  save  them  in  that  day  as  the  flock  of 
His  people :  for  they  shall  be  as  the  stones  of  a  crown,  lifted  up  as  an 
ensign  upon  His  land."  —  Zech.  ix.  16. 

"All  things  come  of  Thee,  and  of  Thine  own  have  we  given 
Thee."  —  1  Chron.  xxix.  14. 

"  They  shall  be  Mine,  saith  the  Lord  of  hosts,  in  that  day  when  I 
make  up  My  jewels."  —  Mal.  iii.  17. 

I  leave  Thee,  Lord,  my  jewels, 
Though  they  are  scattered  wide ; 

Have  them  in  Thy  close  keeping, 
Safe  by  Thy  wounded  side. 


154  CROWN  JEWELS. 


Thine  eye  can  still  behold  them, 
Their  place  no  more  I  sec, 

No  watch  can  I  keep  o'er  them, 
Oh,  watch  o'er  them  for  me ! 

They  are  Thine  own  :  I  would  not 
Adorn  myself  with  them ; 

Thou  hast  ordained  their  beauty ; 
To  grace  Thy  diadem. 

Thy  love  awhile  hath  granted 
These  "  stones  of  grace  "  to  me  : 

And  now  I  leave  my  treasure, 
In  trust,  O  Lord,  with  Thee. 

For  some,  long  time  I  travailed, 
With  many  a  hope  and  fear, 

And  marked  them  growing  brighter 
With  each  succeeding  year. 

And  some  are  freshly  gathered 
From  darksome  pit  and  mine, 

By  the  ensign  of  Thy  power 
In  Thy  kingly  crown  to  shine. 

Fairer  than  Zion's  mountain, 
The  eastern  sun  hath  kissed, 

Shines  in  its  modest  beauty 
Thy  purple  Amethyst. 


CROWN  JEWELS.  155 

By  dust  of  earth  encumbered, 

None  prized  the  precious  stone ; 
Christ  looked  on  it,  and  loved  it : 

How  fair  His  gem  hath  grown. 

Here's  an  Onyx,  love-engraven 

By  the  Master's  patient  care, 
"Who  reads  the  secret  meaning 

Of  each  mystic  character. 

Rough  seemed  the  file  and  chisel, 

Ordained  by  Him  to  bring 
New  beauty  to  His  jewel, 

More  honour  to  the  King. 

I  wept  to  see  how  deeply 

The  graver's  tool  must  go ; 
But  now,  0  God,  Thou  knowest, 

We  would  but  have  it  so ! 

Vainly  we  watch  the  seedling 

To  life  and  form  expand, 
So  the  work  of  the  great  Master 

Is  hidden  'neath  His  Hand. 

Here's  an  Emerald  from  the  valley, 

That  suffering  endears, 
The  dearer  for  the  darkness, 

And  the  waiting,  and  the  tears. 


1 5 G  CEO  WN  JE WELS. 


A  Diamond  from  the  desert, 

Where  I  watched  all  alone ; 
And  a  Sapphire,  the  fairest 

Because  my  latest  one. 

There,  where  the  storm  raged  round  us, 
And  clouds  rolled  o'er  my  head, 

I  found  a  rosy  Ruby 
Within  its  sandy  bed. 

And  now  it  shines  in  glory, 
More  beauteous  in  Thy  sight 

Than  the  golden  orb  of  morning, 
In  its  radiant  car  of  light. 

There's  a  Topaz  —  but  I  leave  them, 
My  eyes  with  tears  o'erflow ; 

My  heart  in  love  yearns  o'er  them, 
As  Thou  alone  canst  know. 

And  I  would  trust  Thee  fully 
With  the  dearest  gifts  I  own ! 

I  shall  find  them  in  the  glory, 
When  I  see  Thee  on  Thy  throne. 

In  faith  and  with  thanksgiving 

My  treasures,  Lord,  I  cast 
Upon  Thy  care,  believing 

Their  future  from  my  past. 


THE   TWO  SHADOWS.  157 

Thy  hand  alone  can  fashion 

Thy  costly  stones  to  shine; 
When  Thou  makest  up  Thy  jewels  — 

No  longer  mine,  but  Thine. 


THE   TWO   SHADOWS. 

"  The  Lord  God  prepared  a  gourd,  and  made  it  to  come  up  over 
Jonah,  that  it  might  be  a  shadow  over  his  head,  to  deliver  him  from 
his  grief.  .  .  .  But  God  prepared  a  worm  when  the  morning  rose  the 
next  day,  and  it  smote  the  gourd  that  it  withered."  —  Jonah  iv.  6,  7. 

"  A  Man  shall  be  as  an  hiding  place  from  the  wind,  and  a  covert 
from  the  tempest ;  as  rivers  of  water  in  a  dry  place,  as  the  shadow  of 
a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land."  —  Isaiah  xxxii.  2. 

"  I  sat  down  under  His  shadow  with  great  delight,  and  His  fruit 
was  sweet  to  my  taste."  — Sol.  Song  li.  3. 

Lord,  hide  me  in  Thy  shadow 

From  the  east  wind's  withering  blast, 
In  the  secret  of  Thy  presence, 

Till  the  fervid  noon  be  past. 
A  worm  destroyed  the  shelter 

Of  the  gourd  Thou  gavest  me ; 
My  heart  is  sick  and  drooping, 

And  the  sun  beats  piteously. 

Take  me,  oh,  take  me  to  Thee, 

Thou  Comforter  divine ! 
My  fevered  hands  —  quick !  clasp  them 


158  THE  TWO  SHADOWS. 

In  that  pierced  palm  of  Thine. 
My  drooping  head,  Lord,  shelter 

Upon  Thy  loving  breast; 
Thy  presence  must  go  with  me  — 

Wilt  Thou  not  give  me  rest  ? 

I  sat  me  in  the  desert 

That  dreary  day  alone, 
Counting  life's  cherished  promise 

Of  bud  and  beauty  gone. 
In  my  spirit's  deep  recesses 

A  still  small  voice  I  heard  — 
"  Better  for  thee,  beloved, 

The  withering  of  thy  gourd. 

"  My  hand  in  love  bestowed  it, 

To  cheer  thy  desert  way  ; 
I  will  not  let  My  blessing 

Thy  trusting  heart  betray. 
Behold,  the  bower  I  build  thee 

No  east  wind  e'er  can  blight ; 
My  wings  shall  be  thy  shadow ; 

My  love  thy  soul's  delight. 

"  It  was  My  hand,  beloved  one, 

That  trained  thy  sheltering  gourd; 

The  sun  scorched  at  My  bidding, 
The  wind  obeyed  My  word. 

'Twas  I  prepared  in  secret 


THE  TWO  SHADOWS.  159 

The  worm  thou  couldst  not  see, 
To  bear  thy  Master's  message 
In  tenderness  to  thee. 

"  Peace,  peace !  I  know  thy  sorrows, 

Thy  faithfulness  I  prove ; 
My  hand  hath  weighed  thy  losses 

In  the  balance  of  my  love. 
Cast  down,  but  not  forsaken, 

Despair  not,  though  distrest : 
My  presence  hath  been  with  thee, 

And  I  will  give  thee  rest. 

11  Behold  a  Plant  whose  beauty 

No  scorching  breath  hath  fanned ! 
A  great  Bock  casts  its  shadow 

In  this  dry  and  thirsty  land : 
The  Eock  endures  for  ever 

The  shock  of  storm  and  wave ; 
And  the  Branch  of  thy  green  bower 

Pose  from  a  garden  grave." 

Ear  could  not  hear  the  answer 

To  my  low  smothered  moan ; 
Eye  hath  not  seen  the  rapture 

Beheld  by  One  alone. 
A  shadow,  in  that  noontide, 

Deeper  and  deeper  grew ; 
Like  healing  balm  the  whisper 

Fell  on  my  heart  like  dew. 


160  THE  LITTLE  SANCTUAR  Y. 

Oh,  peace  !  oh,  joy  eternal ! 

Oh,  Love  divine  and  true  ! 
Oh,  bloom  and  fruit  immortal 

That  Paradise  ne'er  knew  ! 
Dearer  the  dreariest  desert 

Than  all  earth's  joys  restored, 
For  brighter  is  Thy  presence 

By  the  withering  of  my  gourd. 


THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARY. 

"Although  I  have  scattered  them  among  the  countries,  yet  will  I 
be  to  them  as  a  little  sanctuary  in  the  countries  where  they  shall 
come."  —  Ezekiel  xi.  16. 

Thou  hast  been  Home  and  Friend  in  deserts  lonely, 

And  Thou  wilt  be  again. 
0,  let  me  seek  Thy  smile,  my  Jesus  only, 

And  not  the  praise  of  men. 

Lord,  let  me  feel  that  Thou  art  ever  nigh  me, 

And  ruling  all  in  love ; 
That  no  good  thing  Thy  wisdom  will  deny  me, 

Thy  tenderness  to  prove. 

Thy  blessed  voice  the  stormy  wind  obeyeth, 

And  Thy  behest  fulfils  ; 
Thy  word  the  tempest  wild  within  allayeth, 

And  each  foreboding  stills. 


"  EXCEEDING  RICHES  OF  HIS  GRACE."         161 

Keep  me  still  close  to  Thee,  0  Lord ;  Thou  knowest 

Thou  art  my  hope  and  rest ; 
And  trustful  let  me  tread  the  path  Thou  showest, 

Still  leaning  on  Thy  breast. 


THE   EXCEEDING   RICHES   OF   HIS  GRACE.' 

'They  shall  see  His  face;    and    His  name  shall  be  in  their 
foreheads."  —  Rev.  xxii.  4. 

Shall  I  see  my  risen  Saviour? 

Hear  His  voice,  behold  Him  nigh? 
Touch  that  very  hand  extended 

On  the  cross  on  Calvary  ? 

Oft  my  soul  seemed  nigh  to  meet  Him, 
But  death's  shadow  passed  away ; 

So  she  folds  her  wings,  awaiting 
For  the  fair  Sabbatic  day, 

When  I  never  more  shall  wander, 

Never  miss  His  blessed  smile. 
Peace,  my  heart,  and  trust  Him  fully 

For  the  rest  this  little  while ! 

Sighs  have  dulled  my  song's  glad  measure, 
Sorrows  passed  with  passing  days; 

But  the  conflict  and  the  triumph 
Swell  the  themes  of  endless  praise. 


162        "  EXCEEDING  RICHES  OF  HIS  GBACE" 

Patience  !     Let  me  wait  His  coming ; 

He  will  share  my  desert  road ; 
He  will  keep  the  soul  He  purchased 

With  the  ransom  of  His  blood. 

Though  so  bright,  so  blest,  so  beauteous, 
Doth  my  heavenly  mansion  shine, 

Something  fairer,  something  dearer, 
There  I  look  to  claim  as  mine. 

Oh,  it  is  Thyself,  Lord  Jesus ! 

For  the  richest  Gift  above 
All  the  gifts  art  Thou,  sweet  Giver, 

Who  hast  crowned  me  with  Thy  love. 

Grace  He'll  grant,  and  I  shall  need  it 
When  before  His  throne  I  come, 

Hear  His  voice,  that  quelled  the  tempest, 
Bid  His  weary  wanderer  home. 

I  shall  see  His  face  that  sorrowed 
O'er  His  faithless  friends,  and  trace 

Smiles  that  beamed  upon  the  children 
Folded  in  His  fond  embrace. 

I  shall  know  the  way  He  led  me 

Through  the  flame  and  through  the  flood, 

And  on  many  an  unseen  blessing, 
Bead  the  record,  "  Asked  of  God." 


"EXCEEDING  RICHES  OE  HIS  GRACE."         1G3 

There  the  prayer  that  seemed  rejected, 

And  the  answer  long  forgot, 
Will  await  me  in  the  temple, 

Though  on  earth  I  knew  them  not. 

Like  the  storms  and  clouds  of  morning, 

In  the  sunset's  radiant  glow, 
Gathering  hues  of  wondrous  beauty, 

For  the  Lord's  resplendent  bow. 

Grace  He  grants  for  joy  and  sorrow, 
Grace  for  dying  days ;  and  when 

I  behold  my  Lord  in  glory, 

Grace  must  still  my  heart  sustain. 

I  shall  fall  like  John  before  Him, 
With  that  rapturous  sight  opprest ; 

He  will  stoop  in  love  to  raise  me 
To  the  shelter  of  His  breast. 

Grace  hath  found  me,  grace  upholds  me, 

Grace  will  grant  me  all  I  need ; 
Grace  secures  me  Christ  and  glory  — 

This  is  grace  for  me  indeed ! 

A  beloved  servant  of  the  Lord,  now  gone  from  our  midst,  was 
overheard  repeating  softly  to  himself,  "I  shall  have  grace  even  for 
that."  His  brother,  supposing  that  he  was  meditating  on  the  near 
approach  of  release  from  his  sufferings,  quoted  the  twenty-third 
Psalm.  "  Oh,"  replied  the  happy  saint  cheerfully,  "  I  was  not  think- 
ing of  death,  but  of  seeing  the  Lord  Jesus  !  I  shall  gaze  in  His  face, 
and  then  I  shall  fall  at  Hi3  feet,  and  He  will  stoop  and  raise  me  to 
His  breast;  and  I  shall  have  grace  even  for  that." 


THE   WATCH-TOWER. 

"  Let  me  not  be  ashamed  ;  for  I  put  my  trust  in  Thee."  —  Psalm 
xxv.  20. 

"  Thou  shalt  know  that  I  am  the  Lord :  for  they  shall  not  be 
ashamed  that  wait  for  Me."  —  Isaiah  xlix.  23. 

"  It  will  surely  come,  it  will  not  tarry."  — Habakkuk  ii.  3. 

I  will  stand  alone  on  my  watch-tower, 

And  hear  what  my  Lord  will  say ; 
I've  watched  there  many  a  midnight, 

And  the  noon  of  a  sultry  day. 
I  have  cast  my  bread  on  the  waters ; 

I  shall  surely  find  it  again, 
Though  now,  to  my  poor  heart's  vision, 

It  seems  to  be  all  in  vain. 

The  Lord  hath  His  time  appointed ; 

I  know  not  when  it  may  be; 
But  the  blessing  my  soul  is  seeking 

Will  be  given  at  last  to  me. 
It  may  come  in  the  silent  watches, 

When  the  world  lieth  weary  and  still; 
It  may  come  when  my  hope  sinks  lowest, 

The  depth  of  my  spirit  to  thrill. 

I  know  it  will  come.     I  am  gazing 

Into  the  distance  afar, 
As  the  wise  men  watched  for  the  rising, 

Through  Eastern  night,  of  their  star : 


THE  WATCH-TOWER.  165 

And  a  star  will  rise  on  my  darkness 

That  Herod  shall  ne'er  destroy; 
I  shall  know  the  light  I  have  longed  for, 

And  "  rejoice  with  exceeding  joy." 

It  may  come  in  another  fashion 

Than  e'er  I  pictured  its  ray; 
It  may  rise  o'er  the  dull,  cold  mountain, 

Like  the  dawn  of  a  summer's  day. 
It  may  come  like  the  lightning  flashing, 

Or  loud  as  the  thunder's  blast  ; 
But  the  Lord,  who  is  strong  in  battle, 

Will  answer  my  prayer  at  last. 

Thou  hast  spoken,  and  Thou  wilt  do  it: 

I  will  tarry  in  hope,  and  see ; 
For  none  ever  walked  in  darkness, 

And  waited  in  vain  for  Thee. 
I  know  that  my  prayer  will  be  answered ; 

The  Lord  never  comes  too  late ; 
And  the  heart  that  will  trust  Him  fully 

Shall  never  be  desolate. 

It  may  come  when  my  dust  lies  sleeping, 

Awaiting  my  Saviour's  call ; 
But  my  last  prayer,  safe  in  His  keeping, 

Will  shine  there  fairest  of  all. 
It  may  come  when  the  enemy  scofFeth, 

But  I  will  believe  Thee,  Lord ; 


166        "  LIGHT  SO  WN  FOR  THE  RIGHTEO  US." 

For  they  who  dwell  in  Thy  presence, 
May  take  their  rest  on  Thy  word. 

My  star  —  nay,  Thy  star,  my  Master  !  — 

To  shine  in  Thy  crown  so  fair : 
This  is  my  hope  in  my  sadness, 

This  is  the  strength  of  my  prayer. 
Thou  workest  in  signs  and  wonders : 

Thy  promise  shall  cheer  me  again. 
Long  have  I  waited  on  Thee,  Lord  ; 

None  ever  waited  in  vain. 

I  will  stand  alone  on  my  watch-tower, 

If  so  I  may  do  Thy  will : 
Keep  me  to  watch  for  my  star-rise, 

Patiently  watching  there  still. 
Thou  wilt  answer  my  prayer  for  Thy  glory, 

0  Master  beloved  !     Thou  wilt  bless, 
And  quicken  my  heart  in  Thy  praises, 

To  tell  of  Thy  faithfulness. 

"  Therefore  I  will  look  unto  the  Lord  ;  I  will  wait  for  the  God  of  my 
salvation  :  my  God  will  hear  me."  —  Micah  vii.  7. 


"LIGHT   SOWN   FOR   THE   RIGHTEOUS." 

"  Until  the  time  that  His  word  came  :  the  word  of  the  Lord  tried 
him."  —  Psalm  cv.  19. 

Hush  thou  thy  sigh  !     Rebellious  heart,  be  still ! 
God's  way  is  best.     Do  thou  thy  Father's  will. 


THE  LOST  CIIERITK  167 

Be  not  dismayed ;  for  Christ  Himself  is  near 

This  "  doleful  way  !  "     Unto  His  listening  ear 

Pour  out  thy  broken  plaint,  and  soon,  how  soon, 

The  wail  of  woe  will  ehange  to  joy's  sweet  tune  ! 

A  little  while,  and  then  shall  pass  away 

The  veil  that  shrouds  His  beauty,  and  the  day 

Dawn  in  the  cloudless  morning  ne'er  to  cease ; 

For  light  is  sown  for  thee,  and  joy  and  peace 

Laid  up  for  those  who  love  the  Father's  will. 

Peace,  troubled  heart !  Hush,  murmuring  lips  !  Be  still ! 


THE   LOST   CHERITH. 

"  He  drank  of  the  brook.     And  it  came  to  pass  after  a  while,  that 
the  brook  dried  up."  —  1  Kings  xvii.  6,  7. 

Thou  hast  but  claimed  Thine  own ;  Lord,  I  surrender 
Thy  precious  loan,  for  I  would  do  Thy  will ; 

Let  me  not  doubt  Thy  love  so  true  and  tender, 

Say  to  my  quivering  heart-strings,  "  Peace,  be  still." 

Christ !  Priest  and  King  !    In  yon  bright  realm  of  glory 
Thou  bear'st  a  brother's  sympathy  for  woe ; 

And  'mid  the  songs  of  seraphs  rise  before  Thee 
The  broken  prayers  —  the  sighs  I  breathe  below. 

Thou  heard'st  my  cry  when  sore  athirst  and  weary, 
And  on  my  path  in  pity  cast  Thine  eyes ; 


168  THE  LOST  CHERITH. 

Then  in  the  arid  waste,  all  parched  and  dreary, 
Thou  bad'st  for  me  a  bubbling  streamlet  rise. 

"Drink,"  Lord,  Thou  saidst:   and  I  in  mute  thanks- 
giving 

Drank  of  the  stream  that  by  the  wayside  burst, 
Sweet  drops  of  love  from  Thy  deep  fount  upspringing, 

That  soothed  my  weariness  and  quenched  my  thirst. 

Now  at  thy  word  dries  up  my  pleasant  Cherith, 

Oh  let  me  not  in  selfish  grief  repine ; 
Only  Thy  voice  my  mourning  spirit  heareth, 

Thou  hast  not  taken  mine,  0  Lord,  but  Thine. 

"  Nay,  thine  and  Mine  !  "  (thus  came  a  whisper  stealing 

On  my  sad  heart,  and  tenderly  it  fell ;) 
"  That  spring  of  joy  I  sent,  my  love  revealing, 

And  its  deep  secret  thou  must  ponder  well. 

"  'Tis  Mine  and  thine :  it  was  my  love  that  lent  it, 

Thy  lonely  pilgrim  path  to  wander  by ; 
Fear  not,  my  child,  it  was  thy  Father  sent  it, 

And  the  same  love  now  bids  the  brook  run  dry. 

"  Thy  song  of  praise  that  with  its  murmurs  blended, 
Rejoiced  His  heart  who  trod  the  earth  alone, 

Thy  stifled  wail  'mid  angel  hosts  ascended, 

And  reached  thy  Brother  on  thy  Father's  throne. 


THE  LIVING  GOD.  1G9 


"The  cistern  fails  —  the  fountain  flows  for  ever; 

Child,  to  My  care  thy  dearest  ones  resign ; 
My  arms  uphold  thee,  I  will  leave  thee  never, 

And  all  I  am,  and  all  I  have,  is  thine !  " 

Lord !  Friend  and  Brother  !  safe  with  Thee  be  treasured 
Memories  of  countless  mercies  past  recall ; 

Thy  loving  kindness  is  not  scant  or  measured, 
Thou  art  Thyself  the  first  best  gift  of  all. 

0  Christ !    Thou  art  my  fountain  ever  flowing, 
Love  passing  knowledge,  knowing  no  decline ; 

All,  all  is  love  in  taking  or  bestowing, 

And  my  sweet  wayside  brook  is  Thine  and  mine ! 


THE   LIVING   GOD. 

"  Fear  not ;  I  am  the  first  and  the  last :  I  am  He  that  liveth,  an  1 
was  dead  ;  and  behold,  I  am  alive  for  evermore,  Amen  ;  and  have 
the  keys  of  hell  and  of  death."  —  Rev.  i.  17,  18. 

God  lives  !     Then  why  should  I  despond, 

As  if  no  help  were  near  ? 
He  knows  the  sorrows  of  my  heart ; 

He  chose  my  portion  here  : 
Therefore  my  grief  to  Him  I  bring, 
And  tell  my  Saviour  everything. 


170  THE  LIVING  GOD. 


Psalm  xxxiv.  15. 

God  sees  !     I  cannot  weep  unseen ; 

Then  why  do  I  complain  ? 
He  numbers  every  tear ;  He  knows 

The  cause  of  all  my  pain ; 
He  looks  upon  my  misery, 
And  He  will  surely  comfort  me. 

Isaiah  lxv.  24. 

God  hears,  though  listen  none  beside  ! 

Then  wherefore  do  I  fear  ? 
As  if  my  cry  could  fail  to  reach 

My  God's  attentive  ear : 
"  Amen  "  with  my  petition  blends, 
And  swift  deliverance  He  sends. 

Isaiah  xlii.  16. 

God  leads  !     Then,  0  my  soul,  thy  path 

In  patient  hope  pursue  ! 
The  world  lays  snares  around  my  feet, 

But  Christ  will  guard  me  through : 
And  though  mysteriously  He  guide, 
My  hand  in  His,  I  cannot  slide. 

Luke  xi.  13. 

God  gives  !     Then  why,  my  soul,  so  poor  ? 

And  thy  provision  scant? 
When  God  the  Giver  is  so  rich, 

Why  dost  thou  pine  in  want  ? 


THE  LAST  JO  URNE  Y.  171 

Though  in  a  desert  land  I  be, 
My  Shepherd  can  provide  for  me. 

1  Thess.  v.  24. 

God  lives  !     Behold  Him  everywhere. 

God  hears  !     Then  call  for  aid. 
God  sees,  and  numbers  every  tear ! 

God  leads !     Be  not  afraid. 
God  lives  and  loves ;  and  grace  He'll  give, 
That  thou  eternally  with  Him  mayst  live ! 

From  the  German. 


THE   LAST   JOURNEY. 
"They  two  went  on."  —  2  Kings  ii.  6. 

So  far  with  me,  no  farther  now, 
Our  journey  all  so  brief  is  done  ; 

Thou  goest  on  thine  unseen  way, 
And  I  must  tread  my  path  alone. 

"  They  two  went  on,"  and  we  have  been 
Through  Bethel's  plain  and  Jordan's  flood  ; 

Then  one  went  back  to  serve  and  wait, 
And  one  soared  up  to  dwell  with  God. 

We  two  went  on.     Ah  !  not  alone ; 

And  though  no  car  of  lisjht  I  see, 
There  walks  with  me  the  Holy  One,  — 

And  Christ  the  Living  God  with  thee. 


THE  SWELLING  OF  JORDAN. 


THE   SWELLING  OF   JORDAN. 

"  When  ye  are  come  to  the  brink  of  the  water  of  Jordan,  ye  shall 
stand  still  in  Jordan."  —  Joshua  iii.  8. 

"As  I  was  with  Moses,  so  I  will  be  with  thee:  I  will  not  fail 
thee,  nor  forsake  thee."  —  Joshua  i.  5. 

Be  still,  0  Jordan's  billows  ! 

And  stay  thy  rushing  tide, 
Until  I  stem  thy  current 

"  On  to  the  other  side." 
My  heart  with  fear  is  sinking 

As  the  waters  touch  my  feet ; 
How  shall  I  tread  the  pathway 

When  the  wild  waves  o'er  me  meet  ? 

I  thought  a  band  of  angels 

Would  wait  to  lead  me  home ; 
I  thought  the  gates  of  glory 

Would  glisten  through  the  gloom  — 
That  the  joyful  hymn  of  seraphs 

Would  cheer  the  starless  wave, 
And  hide  death's  dismal  pageant, 

The  death- throe  and  the  grave. 

Darker  my  path  is  growing ; 

I  falter  on  the  brink ; 
If,  with  my  foes  contending, 

My  trembling  soul  shall  shrink, 
Then  they  who  watch  my  halting 


THE  SWELLIXQ  OF  JORDAX.  173 

Before  the  Jordan's  flood 
Will  cry,  "Behold  llie  boaster 
Who  anchored  on  his  God." 

The  rolling  river  whispers, 

"  Where  is  the  vaunted  faith 
That,  in  life's  summer  morning, 

Unshrinking,  looked  on  death? 
You  thought  to  cross  the  Jordan 

Like  the  light  bark,  fair  and  fleet, 
And  now  you  fail  and  tremble 

When  the  cold  waves  kiss  your  feet. 

"  Ah,  stand  still,  and  remember 

Your  unbelief  and  pride  ; 
Itead  o'er  your  life's  long  record, 

In  stains  of  crimson  dyed ; 
Your  Saviour  oft  forsaken 

And  wounded,  as  you  strayed, 
Unprized  the  love  that  sought  you, 

Your  Friend  and  Lord  betrayed !  " 

All  true  —  most  true  !     A  sinner 

By  pride  and  passion  tossed, 
Who  had  no  plea  for  pardon, 

Euined,  and  dead,  and  lost ! 
But  Jesus,  oft  forsaken, 

Hath  rescued  me,  I  know, 
And  my  sins,  as  red  as  scarlet, 

Are  now  as  white  as  snow. 


174  THE  SWELLING  OF  JORDAN. 

Then  a  song  rose  in  the  darkness. 

And  softly  on  my  sight 
A  track  of  golden  glory 

Touched  every  wave  with  light. 
'Twas  a  Father's  sweet  compassion, 

Lest  my  weary  soul  should  sink, 
And  my  foes  rejoice  above  me 

As  I  stood  on  Jordan's  brink. 

"Nay,  child,  these  roaring  waters 

Will  not  be  passed  alone, 
A  path  is  made  already, 

Where  the  living  God  hath  gone ; 
And  He  who  went  before  thee 

Is  watching  o'er  thee  now ; 
His  hand  upholds  thee,  fainting, 

With  the  death -dew  on  thy  brow. 

"  Yea,  '  stand  still/  and  remember 

The  way  thy  steps  were  led; 
His  arms  (the  Everlasting) 

Are  ceaselessly  outspread ; 
Not  one  good  thing  was  lacking, 

And  they  who  watch  shall  see, 
That  as  I  was  with  Moses, 

So  will  I  be  with  thee. 

"  Fear  not  th'  accuser's  malice ; 
His  rage  shall  be  in  vain ; 


THE  SWELLING  OF  JORDAN.  175 

And  the  foes  that  now  surround  thee 

Thou  ne'er  shalt  see  again. 
The  Ark  hath  crossed  before  thee 

Through  Jordan's  swelling  flood, 
And  the  path  through  these  wild  waters 

Is  traced  with  Jesus'  blood." 

I  trust  in  Thee,  Lord  Jesus ! 

Though  darkness  veil  Thy  face ; 
It  cannot  dim  one  promise 

Of  faithfulness  and  grace. 
I  passed  the  Red  Sea's  fury, 

And  death  I  shall  not  see ; 
For  as  Thou  wert  with  Moses, 

So  wilt  Thou  be  with  me ! 

I  have  no  song  of  triumph ; 

My  lips  forget  the  lay ; 
My  hand  forgets  her  cunning 

On  my  broken  harp  to-day. 
But  Christ  is  my  salvation, 

And  all  my  heart  can  bring — 
The  Lamb  once  slain  for  sinners, 

My  Saviour,  Lord,  and  King ! 

Glory  to  Thee  for  ever, 

Who  rulest  Jordan's  wave ; 
Glory  to  Thee,  Lord  Jesus, 

Who  came  to  seek  and  save. 


176  "  AARON'S  BREASTPLA TE" 

I  hear  amid  the  swelling 

Of  the  dark,  tempestuous  tide, 

"  Welcome  to  thee,  poor  sinner, 
For  whom  the  Saviour  died." 


"AARON'S   BREASTPLATE." 

"  Aaron  shall  bear  their  names  before  the  Lord  upon  his  two  shoul- 
ders for  a  memorial.  .  .  .  Aaron  shall  bear  the  names  of  the  children 
of  Israel  in  the  breastplate  of  judgment  upon  his  heart,  when  he  goeth 
in  unto  the  holy  place,  for  a  memorial  before  the  Lord  continually." 
—  Exodus  xxviii.  12,  29. 

"  Christ  is  not  entered  into  the  holy  places  made  with  hands,  which 
are  the  figures  of  the  true;  but  into  heaven  itself,  now  to  appear  in 
the  presence  of  God  for  us."  —  Heb.  ix.  24. 

In  the  wondrous  breastplate  golden, 
Safely  on  His  bosom  holden, 

See  the  jewels  from  the  mine  ! 
Amethyst  and  onyx  wearing 
Mystic  marks,  and  each  one  bearing 

Traces  of  the  hand  divine. 

Sapphires  'mid  the  gorgeous  cluster 
Sparkle  with  celestial  luster, 

Like  the  crystal  dome  above ; 
Pvuby  rare  and  topaz  blending 
In  that  glory  never-ending, 

Safe  upon  the  breast  of  love. 


"AARON'S  BREASTPLATE."  177 

Emerald  and  beryl  throwing 
Chastened  hues,  the  fairer  growing 

As  the  jasper  blends  the  rays; 
Chrysopras,  like  king's  attire, 
Glowing  like  a  star  of  fire, 

Or  a  soul  that  loves  to  praise. 

"Who  the  love  and  pain  can  measure, 
Ere  revealed  this  hidden  treasure, 

One  by  one  in  dazzling  light  ? 
On  His  breast  our  High  Priest  wears  them, 
On  His  shoulder,  see,  He  bears  them, 

Ever  in  our  Father's  sight. 

Can  one  jewel  lack  its  station? 
Nay,  for  through  much  tribulation 

Christ  hath  won  them  for  His  own. 
Veiled  on  earth,  by  sorrow  faded, 
Clouds  of  care  their  beauty  shaded,  — 

But  behold  them  near  the  Throne ! 

They  in  Christ.     How  fair  !  how  glorious  ! 
Feeble  ones  in  Him  victorious,  — 

Who  that  bond  of  love  can  sever  ? 
All  so  fair  —  not  one  is  fairer, 
All  so  dear  —  not  one  is  dearer, 

All  in  Christ,  —  yea,  Christ's  for  ever ! 


178  THE  SHINING  FOOTPRINT. 


THE   SHINING   FOOTPRINT. 

"  I  am  the  Light  of  the  world :  he  that  followeth  Me  shall  not 
walk  in  darkness,  but  shall  have  the  light  of  life."  —  John  viii.  12. 
"  We  walk  by  faith,  not  by  sight."  —  2  Cor.  v.  7. 

Dark  the  way  I  wander : 

Shall  I  then  go  back  ? 
Nay !  I  trace  a  footprint 

On  the  desert  track, 
And  I  hear  a  whisper 

(Sweeter  could  not  be), 
"  Lo,  I  go  before  thee, 

Bise !  and  follow  Me." 

So  I  rose  up  quickly, 

"With  my  staff  in  hand, 
Gath'ring  strength  in  rising 

At  my  Lord's  command ; 
Yet  I  thought  (half  sighing), 

"  Not  a  step  I  see!  " 
"  On  !  "  He  said,  "  the  darkness 

Hideth  not  from  Me." 

For  awhile  I  lingered, 

Still  on  the  sunshine  bent; 

Not  a  ray  broke  o'er  me, 
All  the  way  I  went ; 

But  upon  the  waters 
Seemed  that  step  to  be ; 


THE  SHINING  FOOTPRINT.  179 

O'er  the  billows  whispered, 
"  Come  and  follow  me." 

There  were  thousand  footprints 

On  my  way  before, 
Free  and  far  they  wandered, 

On  that  sandy  shore. 
One,  unlike  all  others 

In  its  lucid  light, 
Left  a  path  of  glory 

Through  the  gloomy  night. 

By  the  stormy  waters, 

In  the  busy  street, 
Through  the  dreary  alley, 

'Mid  the  crowding  feet, 
Gleams  that  shining  footprint, 

All  may  seek  and  see  ; 
And  the  voice  of  Jesus 

Whispers,  "  Follow  Me." 

Lord,  keep  Thou  my  footsteps 

Very  near  to  Thine, 
That  some  ray  of  glory 

On  my  path  may  shine ; 
Nearer  and  still  nearer 

Draw  my  heart  to  Thee, 
Lest  I  lose  thy  whisper  — 

"  Eise  and  follow  Me." 


180  RETROSPECTION. 


RETROSPECTION. 

"  Thou  shalt  remember  all  the  way  which  the  Lord  thy  God  led 
thee."  —  Deut.  viii.  2. 

"  Cast  not  away  therefore  your  confidence,  which  hath  great 
recompense  of  reward."  —  Heb.  x.  35. 

He  was  better  to  me  than  all  my  hopes, 

He  was  better  to  me  than  all  my  fears ; 
He  made  a  bridge  of  my  broken  works, 

And  a  rainbow  of  my  tears. 
The  billows  that  guarded  my  sea-girt  path 

Carried  my  Lord  on  their  crest ; 
When  I  dwell  on  the  days  of  my  wilderness  march, 

I  lean  on  His  love  for  the  rest. 

He  emptied  my  hands  of  my  treasured  store, 

And  His  covenant  Love  revealed ; 
There  was  not  a  wound  in  my  aching  heart 

But  the  balm  of  His  breath  hath  healed. 
0  !  tender  and  true  was  the  chastening  sore, 

In  wisdom  that  taught  and  tried; 
Till  the  soul  that  He  sought  was  trusting  in  Him, 

And  nothing  on  earth  beside. 

There  is  light  for  me  on  the  trackless  wild, 

As  the  wonders  of  old  I  trace ; 
When  the  God  of  the  whole  earth  went  before 

To  search  me  a  resting-place. 
Has  He  changed  for  me  ?     Nay !  He  changes  not ; 


RETROSPECTION.  181 


He  will  bring  me  by  some  new  way, 
Through  fire  and  flood,  and  each  crafty  foe, 
As  safely  as  yesterday. 

And  if  to  the  warfare  He  calls  me  forth, 

He  buckles  my  armor  on ; 
He  greets  me  with  smiles  and  a  word  of  cheer, 

For  battles  His  sword  hath  won  : 
He  wipes  my  brow  as  I  droop  and  faint, 

He  blesses  my  hand  to  toil ; 
Faithful  is  He  as  He  washes  my  feet 

From  the  trace  of  each  earthly  soil. 

He  guided  by  paths  that  I  could  not  see, 

By  ways  that  I  have  not  known ; 
The  crooked  was  straight,  and  the  rough  made  plain, 

As  I  followed  the  Lord  alone. 
I  praise  Him  still  for  the  pleasant  palms, 

And  the  water-springs  by  the  way ; 
For  the  glowing  pillar  of  flame  by  night, 

And  the  sheltering  cloud  by  day. 

Ne'er  in  the  glare  of  the  enemy's  land 

He  suffers  His  own  to  sleep ; 
The  combat,  the  tempest,  the  raging  wave, 

Tell  his  wondrous  works  in  the  deep. 
The  treasures  of  darkness,  in  secret  hid, 

Can  the  child  of  the  Kingdom  proclaim  : 
Oh !  tell  forth  the  praise  of  Jehovah  to-day, 

Give  glory  anew  to  His  name. 


182  ALPHA  AND  OMEGA. 

Never  a  watch  on  the  dreariest  halt, 

But  some  promise  of  love  endears ; 
I  read  from  the  past  my  future  shall  be 

Far  better  than  all  my  fears. 
Like  the  golden  pot  of  the  wilderness  bread, 

Laid  up  with  the  blossoming  rod, 
All  safe  in  the  ark  with  the  Law  of  the  Lord, 

Is  the  covenant  care  of  my  God. 


ALPHA  AND   OMEGA. 

"  I  am  Alpha  and  Omega,  the  beginning  and  the  end.  I  will  give 
unto  him  that  is  athirst  of  the  fountain  of  the  water  of  life  freely." — 
Rev.  xxi.  6. 

0  lamb  of  God,  I  know  that  Thou  art  here ! 
Close  as  my  clasping  hands  —  nay,  yet  more  near ; 
And  every  sigh  enters  Thy  gracious  ear. 

I  ask  to  see 
More  of  Thyself,  Lord  Jesus ;  more  of  Thee. 

Give  me  to  walk  with  girded  garments  white; 

The  understanding  heart,  to  read  aright 

Thy  Word;  Thy  law,  Thy  will,  my  soul's  delight, 

That  I  may  be 
More  like  Thyself,  Lord  Jesus;   more  like  Thee. 

Grant  me  Thy  Spirit's  might  to  bring  the  blind 
To  Thy  dear  feet,  Thy  light  and  peace  to  find, 


FELLOWSHIP.  183 


And  sin-forged  fetters  from  the  dead  unbind : 

I  ask  to  be 
More  like  Thyself,  Lord  Jesus ;  more  like  Thee ! 

Grant  me  a  ministry  that  Thou  shalt  bless ; 
Give  me  Thy  comfort  for  the  comfortless, 
And  self-forgetful  in  each  heart's  distress. 

Oh,  grant  to  me 
More  of  Thyself,  Lord  Jesus  ;  more  of  Thee  ! 

Give  me  a  baptism  of  glowing  love, 

Thy  power  and  presence  whereso'er  I  rove : 

And  my  last  prayer,  all  other  prayers  above  — 

Oh,  give  to  me 
More  of  Thyself,  Lord  Jesus ;  more  of  Thee  ! 


FELLOWSHIP. 

"  Call  unto  Me,  and  I  will  answer  thee,  and  show  thee  great  and 
mighty  things,  which  thouknowest  not."  — Jer.  xxxiii.  3. 

"  I  beseech  Thee,  show  me  Thy  glory."  .  .  .  .  "  Behold,  there  is  a 
place  by  Me,  and  thou  shalt  stand  upon  a  rock  :  and  it  shall  come  to 
pass,  while  my  glory  passeth  by,  that  I  will  put  thee  in  a  clift  of  the 
rock,  and  will  cover  thee  with  My  hand."  —  Exodus  xxxiii.  18,  21, 
22. 

My  soul  is  dark  and  dumb  !     Why  is  it,  Lord  ? 

Oh,  when  wilt  Thou  arise ! 
And,  with  the  hand  my  many  sins  have  pierced, 

Anoint  my  longing  eyes  ? 


184  FELLOWSHIP. 


My  heart  lies  open  to  Thy  searching  gaze, 

My  weakness  and  my  woe, 
My  sins  innumerable,  my  failing  faith, 

That  only  Thou  canst  know. 

Why  am  I  sore  distressed  ?  —  for  Thou  art  nigh, 

And  I  would  onward  press, 
And  find  some  token  of  a  Father's  love 

E'en  in  this  bitterness. 

I  asked  to  share  Thy  fellowship ;  to  know 

More  of  Thyself,  0  Lord  ! 
And  Thou,  attentive  to  my  feeble  cry, 

Hast  proved  me  at  my  word. 

I  thought  my  soul  would  overleap  with  joy, 

More  of  Thyself  to  see ; 
I  dreamed  — to  walk  in  fellowship  divine 

Could  bring  but  light  to  me. 

I  prayed  that  I  might  know  Thee  more  and  more, 

And  all  Thy  will  discern, 
And  lessons  Thou  wouldst  teach  me  day  by  day 

Still  patiently  might  learn. 

I  take  the  cup  Thou  giv'st;  I  know  Thy  voice, 

'Twill  make  my  portion  sweet. 
I  asked  to  share  the  path  that  Thou  wouldst  choose, 

And  track  Thy  heavenly  feet. 


FELLOWSHIP.  185 


But  when  on  earth  no  cloudless  skies  were  Thine, 

No  Eden  bloomed  for  Thee  — 
But  noontide  travel,  and  the  midnight  watch, 

And  dark  Gethsemane. 

And  shall  I  only  to  Emmaus  walk 

In  goodly  company, 
And  shun  the  woeful  watch  where  Thou  didst  yearn 

For  human  sympathy  ? 

Silent  I  stand  before  Thee,  for  the  way 

Is  strange,  and  steep,  and  rough ; 
Is  this  Thy  fellowship,  to  "  share  Thy  cup  "  ? 

Then,  Lord,  it  is  enough. 

Thy  cup  ?     Ah,  Thou  hast  emptied  it  for  me  ! 

It  only  touched  my  lip ; 
Bat  Thou  dost  grant  that  taste  to  every  soul 

That  shares  Thy  fellowship. 

The  children's  lessons,  often  sadly  conned, 

Are  seeds  for  future  years, 
And  bear  their  bloom  and  fruit  laid  up  for  Thee, 

Though  watered  with  our  tears. 

The  goal  is  almost  won,  the  river  passed, 

And  Paradise  is  nigh ; 
The  shadow  of  Thy  hand  is  o'er  me  cast, 

Guarding  me  tenderly. 


186  A  BENEDICTION. 


Thou  art  so  near  to  me,  I  feel  Thy  hand 

Shrouding  Thy  glory,  Lord; 
And  in  the  deep  cleft  of  the  riven  Rock 

I  see  —  the  Living  Word  ! 

Thy  mercy  and  Thy  goodness  are  in  Him 

Whom  I  so  dimly  trace  ; 
0  God  of  Glory,  in  Thy  Holy  Son 

I  now  behold  Thy  face ! 


A  BENEDICTION. 

1  Ye  shall  be  a  blessing  :  fear  not,  but  let  your  hands  be  strong. 
Zech.  viii.  13. 

God  bless  thee  to-day  with  joy  that  never 

Shall  fade,  beloved,  away  : 
Thine  be  the  portion  that  endureth  ever, 

Through  life's  long  endless  day. 
Undying  fruit  shall  spring  from  wintry  hours, 

According  to  His  word ; 
The  rod  shall  blossom  with  celestial  flowers, 

Laid  up  before  the  Lord. 

Renew  thy  strength,  and  tread  with  true  endeavor 

The  path  thy  Master  trod : 
Safe !  for  His  seal  proclaims  thee  His  for  ever, 

Anointed  with  His  blood. 


A  BENEDICTION.  187 


Walk  in  the  light,  that  every  snare  be  taken 

That  would  thy  foot  betray, 
And  own  —  the  love  that  called  hath  ne'er  forsaken 

The  wanderer  astray. 

A  little  while  to  wait  for  His  appearing, 

And  watch  for  Him  to  come. 
And  hear  His  voice  of  love,  in  tones  endearing, 

Welcome  his  loved  ones  home. 
From  faith  to  faith  still  follow  Him,  though  weeping, 

His  lightest  whisper  heed ; 
Sow  thou  the  grain,  and  leave  to  Him  the  reaping, 

And  trust  to  Him  thy  seed. 

Speak  for  the  Master :  He  will  guide  thee  duly 

To  wield  the  Spirit's  sword. 
Live  for  the  Lord  who  bought  thee  :  serve  Him  truly, 

And  He  will  bless  thy  word. 
Thus  all  thy  wealth  in  Christ  the  Lord  possessing, 

Thy  heart  shall  rest  above : 
Take  now  His  promise,  with  my  parting  blessing, 

In  token  of  His  love. 


tMemember  Jacob  Abbott?*  nensible  rule  to  give  children  something  that 

tin  u  are  growing  up  to,  not  away  front,  and  keep  down  the 

stock  of  children1  a  books  to  the  very  beat." 


CLASSIC   JUVENILES 


BY    JACOB    ABBOTT, 

The  Prince  of  Writers  for  the   Yoiuuj. 


"  Jacob  Abbott's  books  con- 
tain so  mucb  practical  wisdom 
concerning  the  every-<lay  life 
of  children,  and  so  many  les- 
sons in  honor,  truthfulness, 
and  courtesy,  that  they  should 
not  be  left  out  of  the  libraries 
of  boys  and  girls."  —  From 
"Books  for  the  Young,"  com- 
piled by  C.  M.  Hctrins,  Libra- 
rian of  tlie  Hartford  Library 
Association. 


ABBOTT'S    AMERICAN    HISTORIES    FOR    YOUTH. 

Illustrated  by  Parley,  Herrick,  Chapin,  and  others.     lL'mo     . 


8  vols. 


$10.00 


I.  Aboriginal  America. 
II.  Discovery  of  America. 

III.  The  Southern  Colonies. 

IV.  The  Northern  Colonies. 


V.  Wars  of  the  Colonies. 
VI.  The  Revolt  of  the  Colonies. 
VII.  The  War  of  the  Revolution. 
VIII.  George  Washington. 


THE   ROLLO    BOOKS. 

Rollo  Learning  to  Talk. 
Rollo  Learning  to  Read. 
Rollo  at  Work. 
Rollo  at  Play. 
Rollo  at  School. 
Rollo's  Vacation. 
Rollo's  Experiments. 


14  vols.    Illustrated.    16mo 14.00 

Rollo's  Museum. 
Rollo's  Travels. 
Rollo's  Correspondence. 
Rollo's  Philosophy  —  Water. 
Rollo's  Philosophy  —  Air. 
Rollo's  Philosophy  —  Fire. 
Rollo's  Philosophy  —  Sky. 


THE  JONAS   BOOKS.    6  vols. 
Jonas  a  Judge. 
Caleb  in  Town. 
Caleb  in  the  Country. 


Illustrated.    16mo G.OO 

Jonas's  Stories. 

Jonas  on  a  Farm  in  Summer. 

[onas  on  a  Farm  in  Winter. 


I  I 


coo 


THE  LUCY   BOOKS.    « vols.    Illustrated.    lGmo 

Lucy  Among  the  Mountains.  Lucy  at  Study. 

Lucy's  Conversations.  Lucy  at  Play. 

Lucy  on  the  Sea  Shore.  Stories  Told  to  Cousin  Lucy. 

AUGUST  STORIES.    4  vols.    Illustrated.    16mo 5.00 

August  and  Elvie.  Schooner  Mary  Ann. 

Hunter  and  Tom.  I  Granville  Valley. 

JUNO   STORIES.    4  vol*.    Illustrated.     16mo 3.00 

Hubert.  Juno  on  a  Journey. 

Juno  and  Georgie.  Mary  Osborne. 


An  Elegant  Holiday  Volume  of  Poetical  Selections. 

THE 

Cambridge  Bool^  of  poeiflj  and  pong. 

Selected  from  English  and  American  Authors. 

Collected  and  edited  by  Charlotte   Fiskr   Bates,  of  Cambridge, 
compiler  of  "  The  Longfellow  Birthday  Book," 
"  Seven  Voices  of  Sympathy,"  etc. 

With  a  Steel  Portrait  of  Longfellow, 
and  1(5  full-page  illustrations,  from  origi- 
nal designs  by  Church,  Fredericks,  I  Mel- 
man,  Schell,  Murphy,  Gifford,  Smillie, 
Harry  Fenn,  and  others.  Engraved  by 
George  T.  Andrew. 

Over  900  pp.  Koyal  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  edges,    $5 
"        "  "  hf.  morocco,  gilt,     7 

11        "  "  full  morocco,  gilt,  10 

In  a  work  of  this  character  great  liter- 
ary taste  and  discrimination  are  required 
to  successfully  winnow  the  chaff  from 
the  wheat.  For  this  task,  Miss  Bates 
has  proved  herself  peculiarly  fitted,  and 
has  given  much  time  and  labor  to  gather 
in  one  volume  such  selections  as  are 
worthy  of  a  place  among  the  choicest 
poetry  of  the  English  language. 

The  collection  is  especially  full  and 
complete  in  extracts  from  living  Ameri- 
can authors,  many  of  whom  are  represented  in  no  other  compilation  ; 
while  care  has  been  taken  to  include  those  also  without  which  a  work  of 
this  description  would  be  incomplete. 

Especial  care  has  also  been  taken  to  have  the  text  accurate  and  free 
from  typographical  errors,  the  copy  having  been  carefully  revised  by 
the  compiler  and  competent  proof-readers.  The  indexes,  three  in  num- 
ber, are  minute  and  complete  in  every  respect,  and  leave  nothing  to  be 
desire;!  in  this  particular.  The  arrangement  of  the  poems  is  on  a  plan 
wholly  different  from  that  commonly  pursued;  the  authors  being  placed 
alphabetically,  and  all  th  i  extracts  from  each  author  will  be  found  in  one 
section  instead  of  being  scattered  through  Ihe  book  under  different  head- 
ings. It  is  believed  this  feature  will  prove  a  great  convenience  to  those 
who  m  ly  u.;e  the  work  for  reference. 

The  illustrations  have  been  designed  by  some  of  the  best  and  most  rmi- 
nsnt  artists  in  this  country,  expressly  for  this  book,  and  are  superior  to 
anything  ever  before  attempted  in  any  similar  work.  The  engraver  has 
faithfully  reproduced  the  drawings  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the  artists, 
and  the  value  of  the  book  is  greatly  enhanced  by  these  beautiful  speci- 
mens of  American  art. 

The  whole  work  has  been  faithfully  performed,  both  in  the  matter  of 
the  preparation  of  the  material  and  of  mechanical  execution,  including 
the  presswork  and  the  binding,  all  of  which  combine  to  give  it  that  stand- 
ard character  which  it  has  been  the  aim  of  the  publishers  to  produce. 

For  Sale  ly  at  I  Booksellers. 

Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co.,  13  Astor  Place,  N.Y. 


THE    ONLY  COMPLETE   L/.YE    OF  POETS  PUBLISHED  IN 
THIS   COUNTRY. 

CROWELL'S 

RED    LINE    POETS. 


59  Volumes.    12mo.    Per  Volume,  $1.25. 


Gilt  Edges,  Red  Line  Borders,  Illustrated, 
and  Elegantly  Bound  in  new  and  beautiful  designs. 

The  New  Designs  for  the  covers  are  especially 
attractive  and  in  keeping  with  the  superior  quality  of 
paper,  pressicork  and  binding,  which  combine  to  make 
this  series  so  justly  popular  with  the  trade  and  the 
general  public,  whose  demands  during  the  past  year 
have  severely  taxed  our  ability  to  supply  promptly. 

"We  would  call  special  attention  to  our  new  ALLI- 
GATOR LEATHER  BINDINGS,  which  will  prove 
an  attractive  feature,  and  are  o  tiered  at  very  low 

rates. 

The  following  now  comprise  the  list:  — 


♦Aurora  Leigh. 
•Browning  (Mrs.). 
♦Browning  (Robert). 

♦BCRNS. 

*B\'R0N. 

Campbell. 

Chaucer. 

Coleridge. 

Cook  (Eliza). 

Cowper. 

Crabbe. 

Dante. 

Drvden. 
♦Eliot  (George). 
♦Favorite  Poems. 
♦Faust  (Goethe's). 

Goethe's  Poems. 
♦Goldsmith. 
♦Hemans. 

Herbert. 


Hood. 

Iliad. 

Irish  Melodies. 
Mean  Ingelow. 

Keats. 

♦Lady  of  the  Lake. 
♦Lalla  Rookh. 
♦Lay  of  the  Last  Min- 
strel. 
♦Lucile. 

Macaulay. 
♦Marmion. 
•Meredith  (Owen). 
♦Milton. 

Mulock  (Miss). 
♦Moore. 

Odyssey. 

Ossian. 

Pilgrim's  Progress. 

Poetry  of  Flowers. 


♦Poe  ,'Edgar  A.). 

Pope. 
♦Procter, 

♦Red  Letter  Poems. 
♦Rossetti  (Dante  G.). 

Sacred  Poems. 
♦Schiller. 
♦Scott. 

♦Shakespeare. 
♦Shelley. 

Shipton  (Anna). 

Spenser. 

Surf  and  Wave. 
♦Swinburne. 
♦Tennyson. 

Thomson. 

Tupper. 

Virgil. 

"White  (Kirke). 
♦Wordsworth. 


The  above  are  also  furnished  with  Plain  Edges,  not  Illustrated,  at  S1.0O 
per  volume. 

Those  marked  with  an  asterisk  (♦)  furnished  in  Alligator  Leather,  at  §3.00 
per  volume. 

For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers. 

Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co.,  13  Astor  Place,  N.Y. 


POPULAR    POETS. 


Crowell's  Favorite  Illustrated  Edition. 


WITH   DESIGNS   BY 


Taylor,  Merrill,  "Woodward,  Schell,  Gifford,  Garrett,  IIayden, 
and  other  eminent  artists. 

Printed  on  fine  Calendered  Paper,  bound  in  attractive  style  for 
Holiday  Gifts.  Sq.  Svo,  Gilt  Edge,  $3.50  per  vol.  Full  Mor.  Antique 
or  Tree  Calf,  $6.00. 


Aurora  Leigh. 

Browning  (Mrs.)- 

Browning  (Robert). 

Burns. 

Byron. 

Dante. 

Favorite. 

Faust. 

Goldsmith. 

Lalla  Rookh. 

Lady  of  the  Lake. 


Lay   of   the  Last 

Minstrel. 
Lucile. 
Marmion. 
Meredith  (Owen). 
Milton. 
Moore. 
Scott. 
Swinburne. 
Tennyson. 


The  illustrations  for  these  volumes  are  deserving  of  especial  mention, 
having  been  prepared  at  great  expense,  a  large  proportion  of  them 
engraved  by  Geo.  T.  Andrew,  whose  work  on  "  The  Cambridge  Book  of 
Poetry  "  adds  so  much  to  its  value. 

The  paper,  printing,  and  binding  are  also  first-class  in  all  respects,  and 
no  effort  has  been  spared  to  make  this  series  attractive  and  popular. 

The  price  has  also  been  fixed  at  a  low  rate,  in  order  to  insure  the  favor 
of  the  public  ;  and  it  is  hoped  that  this  line  of  Poets  will  prove  adapted 
to  the  wants  of  those  desiring  attractive  books  at  popular  prices. 


Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co.,  13  Astor  Place,  N  V 


JUVENILE    PUBLICATIONS, 


By  Jacob  Abbott, 

"  The  Prince  of  Writers  for  the  Young." 

American  Histories  for  Youth.    Ei^ht  volumes.    12mo.    .         $10.00 

The  Kollo  Books.    Fourteen  volumes.    lGmo 14.00 

The  Jonas  Books.    Six  volumes.    16mo 6.00 

The  Lucy  Books.    Six  volumes.    16mo 6.00 

The  author  of  the  Itollo  Books  is  well  known  wherever  the  Eng- 
lish language  is  spoken,  and  his  books  have  become  standard 
classics  in  the  domain  of  children's  literature.  It  is  a  part  of  every 
child's  education  to  become  familiar  with  them. 

By  D.  C.  Eddy,  D.D. 

Walter's  Tour  in  the  East.    Six  volumes.    12mo  ....     7.50 

Kip  Van  Winkle  in  Asia  and  Africa.     Fully  Illustrated. 

Quarto.     Boards 1.75 

"  Cloth 2.25 

Kip  Van  Winkle  in  Europe.    Fully  Illustrated.    Quarto.    Boards   1.75 
Cloth 2.25 

By  Mary  Abbott  Rand. 

Homespun  Yarns  for  Christmas  Stockings.    Illustrated. 

Quarto.     Boards 1.25 

Holly  and  Mistletoe.    Illustrated.    Quarto.    Boards      .        .        .1.25 

By  Laurie  Loring. 

Snowflakes  from  Santa's  Land.    Illustrated.    Quarto.    Boards  .     1.25 
Sparkles  for  Bright-Eyes.    Illustrated.    Quarto.    Boards    .        .     1.25 

By  Miss  Parthene  B.  Chamberlain. 

What  About  Fred.    12mo 1.25 

Chosen  Vessels.    12mo 1.25 

A  Rare  Piece  of  Work.    16mo        .        .        .        .        .        .        .     1.00 

Mistress  of  the  House.    lGmo 1.00 

Miss  Chamberlain  is  one  of  the  best  authors  of  juvenile  litera- 
ture of  the  present  day.  She  has  one  motive  in  all  her  works,  which 
is  steadily  kept  in  view,  viz. ,  to  benefit  as  well  as  please  her  readers. 


An  JZlegant  Holiday  Volume  of  Poetical  Selections. 

THE 

CAMBRIDGE  BOOK  OF  POETRY  AND  SOE. 

Selected  from  English  and  American  Authors. 

Collected  and  edited  by  Charlotte  Fiske  Bates,  of  Cambridge, 

compiler  of  "The  Longfellow  Birthday  Book," 

"  Seven  Voices  of  Sympathy,"  etc. 

With  a  Steel  Portrait  of  Longfellow,  and  16  fnll-page  illustra- 
tions, from  original  designs  by  Church,  Fredericks,  Dielman, 
Schell,  Murphy,  Gifford,  Smillie,  Harry  Fenn,  and  others.  Engraved 
by  George  T.  Andrew. 

Over  900  pages,  Royal  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  edges    .        .        .        $5.00 
"  "  "  half  morocco,  gilt  .        .        .  7.50 

"  "  "  full  morocco,  gilt  .        .        .         10.00 

In  a  work  of  this  character  great  literary  taste  and  discrimination 
are  required  to  successfully  winnow  the  chaff  from  the  wheat.  For 
this  task,  Miss  Bates  has  proved  herself  peculiarly  fitted,  and  bas 
given  much  time  and  labor  to  gather  in  one  volume  such  selections 
as  are  worthy  of  a  place  among  the  choicest  poetry  of  the  English 
language. 

The  ^collection  is  especially  full  and  complete  in  extracts  from 
living  American  authors,  many  of  whom  are  represented  in  no 
other  compilation;  while  care  has  been  taken  to  include 
those  also  without  which  a  work  of  this  description  would  be 
incomplete. 

Especial  care  has  also  been  taken  to  have  the  text  accurate  and 
free  from  typographical  errors,  the  copy  having  been  carefully 
revised  by  the  compiler  and  competent  proof-readers.  The  indexes, 
three  in  number,  are  minute  and  complete  in  every  respect,  and 
leave  nothing  to  be  desired  in  this  particular.  The  arrangement 
of  the  poems  is  on  a  plan  wholly  different  from  that  commonly 
pursued;  the  authors  being  placed  alphabetically,  and  all  the 
extracts  from  each  author  will  be  found  in  one  section  instead  of 
being  scattered  through  the  book  under  different  headings.  It  h 
believed  this  feature  will  prove  a  great  convenience  to  those  who 
may  use  the  work  for  reference. 

The  illustrations  have  been  designed  by  some  of  the  best  and 
most  eminent  artists  in  this  country,  expressly  for  this  book,  and 
are  superior  to  anything  ever  before  attempted  in  any  similar  work. 
The  engraver  has  faithfully  reproduced  the  drawings  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  the  artists,  and  the  value  of  the  book  is  greatly 
enhanced  by  these  beautiful  specimens  of  American  art. 

The  whole  work  has  been  faithfully  performed,  both  in  the 
matter  of  preparation  of  the  material  and  of  mechanical  execution, 
including  the  presswork  and  the  binding,  all  of  which  combine  to 
give  it  that  standard  character  which  it  has  been  the  aim  of  th«» 
publishers  to  produce. 

For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers. 

Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co.,  13  Astor  Place,  N.Y. 


STANDARD   AND    MISCELLANEOUS 
BOOKS. 

The  Cambridge  Book  of  Poetry  and  Song.  Selected  from 
English  and  American  Authors, by  Charlotte  F.  Hates,  compiler 
of  "The  Longfellow  Birthday  Book,"  "  Seven  Voices  of  Sympathy ," 
etc.     Illustrated   by  t he  best  artists.    Containing  many  selections 

found  in  no  other  compilation      Carefully  indexed    and  a  most  at- 
tractive and  valuable  Book  of  Reference.     Royal  8vo. 

Cloth,  gilt     ....  #5.00  I       Full  morocco  .         .  $10.(M» 

Half  morocco        .         .         .     7.60  |       Tree  calf        ....    12.00 

Surf  and  Wave.    A  Collection  of  Poems  and  Ballads  of  the  Sea. 

Compiled  by  Anna  L.  Ward.     Finely  Illustrated.     12mo.       .         .     2.00 
Gilt  edge    * 2.50 

A  Dictionary    of   Poetical    Quotations.      Based  upon  that  of 
Henry  G.   Hohn.     Revised,  Corrected,  and  Enlarged  by  the  addition 
of  over  1200  Quotations.     Crown  8vo.     Bevelled  boards   .         .         .     2.50 
Interleaved  edition        .  3.50 

Foster's  Cyclopaedias  of  Illustrations.  Containing  over  16,000 
Quotations  from  Prose  and  Poetic  Literature,  on  all  Subjects  which 
come  within  the  range  of  Christian  Teaching.  Prose  Illustrations, 
Vols.  I.  and  II.;  Poetical  Illustrations,  Vols.  I.  and  11.  Price  in 
Cloth,  ^o.OO;  in  Sheep,  $6.00  per  volume. 

Conybeare  &  Howson's  Life  of   St.  Paul.     12mo.     Illustrated 

edition       ....    $1.50  |      Popular  edition        .        .        .1.0a 

Mailer's  Life  of  Trust.     12mo 1  50 

Fleetwood's  Life  of  Christ.    12mo 1.50 

Smith's  Bible  Dictionary.    8vo 2.00 

Anna  Shipton's  Works.    Ten  vols.    16mo.    Cloth  .        .        .    7.50 

Paper 2.50 

Charles  Lamb's  Works.    Three  vols.     12mo.  ....     3.75 

Disraeli's  Works.    Six  vols.     12mo 7.50 

Dallam's  Works.    Six  vols.     12mo 7.50 

Milman's  Works.    Eight  vols.     12mo 12.00 

Dickens'  Works.    Fifteen  vols.    12mo 18.75 

Thackeray's  Works.    Eleven  vols.     12mo 13.75 

Waverly  Novels.    Twelve  vols.     12mo 15.00 

Hume's  England.    Three  vols.     12mo 4.50 

Shakespeare.    8vo.    73  Illustrations.     Plain  edge       ....     3.00 

Gilt  edge       .         .         .         .     3  50  |      Sheep 3.50 

Goethe's  Works.    People's  edition.    Five  vols.     12mo.    .        .        .     7.50 

Cambridge  edition.     Ten  vols.     8vo.    Gilt  top 15. 0C 

Flowers  of  the  Field  and  Forest.    With  Fourteen  Colored  Plates 

of  Wild  Flowers,  from   Originals,  by  Isaac    Sprague.     Quarto. 

Elegantly  bound 6.00 

Beautiful  Wild  Flowers  of  America.  Fourteen  Superbly  Col- 
ored Plates,  from  original  Water-Color  Drawings  after  Nature,  by 

Isaac  Sprague.     Quarto.    Gilt 6.00 

Beautiful  Ferns.    Containing  Fourteen  Superbly  Colored  Plate?  of 

our  American  Ferns.     Quarto.     (Jilt 6.00 

History  of  Architecture   in   all   Countries.      By  James  Fer- 

GUSSON.    Royal  8vo.     Twq  yohj,     Per  vpj,  ,  14.00 


By  William  M.  Thayer. 

The  Poor  Boy  and  the,  Merchant  Prince;  or,  The  Life  of 

Amos  Lawrence.     lGrno $l.0t/ 

The   Good   Girl  and  the  True  Woman;    oh,  The  Life  of 

Mauy  Lyon.     lOmo LOO 

Nelson ;  or,  How  a  Country  Boy  Made  nis  Way  in  the  City. 
Being  Incidents  in  the  Life  of  a  Successful  Merchant  of  Boston. 

16mo 1.25 

Mr.  Thayer  has  written  many  books  for  juvenile  renders,  and  all 
his  works  are  stimulating  aud  helpful  to  young  people  who  desire 
to  succeed  in  life. 


Christmas  Plum-Pudding  Stories.    A  charming  collection  of 

stories  by  popular  writers.     Illustrated.     Qua.  to       ....      1.50 

Off  to  the  Wilds.  By  Geo.  Manville  Fenn.  A  Story  of  Hunt- 
ing  Adventures  in  South  Africa.  A  favorite  book  with  the  boys. 
Sq.  8vo.     Fully  Illustrated *  1.75 

The  Mutiny  on  Board  the  Leander.  By  Bernard  TIeldmann. 
A  Story  of  Strange  Adventures  in  the  Southern  Pacific.  Sq.  8vo. 
24  Illustrations 1.75 

Martin  the  Skipper.  By  James  F.  Cobb,  author  of  "  The  Watch- 
ers on  the  Longships,"  etc.  A  Tale  for  Boys  and  Seafaring 
Folk.     l2mo 1.50 

The  Watchers  on  the  Longships.  By  James  F.  Cobb.  A  Stoiy 
of  Thrilling  Interest,  founded  on  fact,  illustrating  Moral  Heroism 
and  Faithfulness  to  Duty.     12mo 1.50 

A  Home  in  the  Holy  Land.  By  Mrs.  Finn.  An  excellent  and 
faithful  Description  of  Home  Life  in  the  Holy  Land  at  the  Present 
Day.     12mo 1.50 

Dora's  Boy.  By  Mrs.  Ellen  Ross.  A  well-written  and  entertain- 
ing Story  for  Boys,  illustrating  the  Practical  Beauty  of  True  Chris- 
tianity.    12mo 1.25 

The  Farmer  Boy;   or,  How  he  Became  Commander-in-Chief. 

The  Life  of  George  Washington.     By  Uncle  Juvenal.     16mo         .     1.00 

A  Year  at  Poplar  Row.    By  March  Ellinwood.    A  noble  ideal 

of  Christian  Girlhood  and  Young  Womanhood.     16mo     .        .         .      1.03 

Almost  too  Late.    By  Mrs.  H.  B.  Paul.     16mo        ....     IM 
Knowing  and  Doing-    By  Mrs.  H.  B.  Paul.     16mo       .        .        .     LOO 
Two  companion  books  illustrating  the  graces  of  overcoming  evil 
with  good,  industry,  patience  in  trials,  etc. 

Three  Judges.    By  Israel  P.  Warren.     IGmo         ....     LfD 
A  capitally  told  true  story  of  the  three  judges  of  the  court  which 
beheaded   Charles  I.  in  the  times  of  the  English  Revolution,  1640- 
1659.     Introduction  by  Rev.  Leonard  Bacon,  D.I). 

Chauncey  Judd.    By  Israel  P.  Warren.    16mo 1.25 

A  storv  of  the  American  Revolution.  Thoujrh  a  true  story  it  is 
told  in  such  a  way  as  to  have  more  than  the  interest  of  fiction. 
Patriotism  and  religion  are  inculcated. 


